Hopes and Dreams
by IHeartSam
Summary: A story of Faramir and Eowyn as their relationship blossoms into something special. I do not own LOTR of any characters recognised herein...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first attempt at an LOTR fic so all comments/suggetions would be greatly appreciated! **

**Chapter One: A Heavy Heart**

Faramir, Son of Denethor, grimaced as he opened a missive sent from his father, the ruling Steward of Gondor. He leaned heavily upon the windowsill of his chambers, looking out over the White City with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his weary soul. He knew what this summons concerned; he had lost the river and Osgiliath, the once prized city belonging to Gondor's realm, to the orc hordes of Mordor.

"Foul, pernicious beasts," he muttered vehemently as he pushed away from the window with reluctance. He did not want to face his father's wrath, had only just returned from that dreadful mission a few scant days previous and he was struggling to keep his emotions in check…

_…So many deaths…what do I tell their families…?_

His footsteps were steady but slow as they echoed off the stone walls of the Citadel where Denethor awaited his son with a grim scowl from upon his chair. A council had been called to discuss strategies and to make plans with the aid of other Captains. Faramir smiled, a small though genuine one that lit up his grey eyes with a warmth that became him well; his uncle, The Prince of Dol Amroth was a welcome presence in the corner.

"What have you to say for your conduct?" Denethor asked quietly, eyes surveying his son's slightly tired appearance with distaste.

Faramir pursed his lips a moment, dark eyes flashing in brief outrage at the insinuating tone of his father's words. He had nothing to atone for, had done his best to keep the bridge over the river and would have wasted precious lives fighting longer than he had.

"My conduct was as you asked, My Lord: I did as I saw best but we were too greatly outnumbered and more fighting would have been in vain." Faramir answered honestly.

Denethor's thin grey lips pulled back into something half akin to a snarl, half a sneer, as he continued, "And in regards to the City we have lost? The ground you so willingly gift to the Enemy?" He glowered menacingly at his youngest son, contempt clear upon his craggy face.

"Willingly?" Faramir echoed in surprise and confusion, "Nay, Lord, not willingly but I would willingly do so again if it would save the lives of the many men who would otherwise die needless deaths."

A low murmur broke out at Faramir's obvious rebellion toward his father, some exclaiming surprise and others pride. The voices soon quieted and the Hall returned to a stifled hush as Denethor sat straighter in his chair, eyes turning to ice as they sought to penetrate the dim shadows hiding those speakers who dared comment upon his meeting with his son.

"Your brother would not have given in to such weakness, such gentleness may be repaid with death," he spat, ignoring the flinch of his youngest save for a momentary glee that lit up his eyes.

"So be it," the young ranger intoned softly, _Is nothing I do ever enough?_

"So be it?! But not only your death, the death of your people and your father, whom it is your part to protect now that Boromir is gone…Boromir would not have failed me; he would not have failed Gondor! Woe that he is gone…my poor, brave son…" was the savage reply.

Faramir bowed his head for a moment to compose himself, his raven locks falling over his wounded eyes to hide his turmoil and upset.

"Boromir would have kept the bridge and the city…we cannot give them up!"

Faramir tried to ignore the ramblings of his outraged Lord but his dejected mind could only clearly see one agonising truth, "You wish now that our places had been exchanged - that I had died and Boromir had lived."

"Yes, I wish that." Denethor breathed.

No whispers met this revelation as shock was writ plainly on all faces in the hall. Everyone present knew of the father's dislike of his youngest son, his maltreatment, but none would have thought him to give such an admission. Faramir for once could not stop the tears in his eyes forming, aware as he was that Denethor would see them as yet another weakness. They pooled from the depths of his shimmering grey eyes and as they fell the dim light of hope in his eyes faded and was extinguished. He could not get his throat to form words, did not even know what to say to such a rebuke so merely listened dutifully as his Steward continued, impassioned.

"You were foolish to give up Osgiliath, such ground cannot be lost! Bah! Is there no Captain here loyal enough to do his Lord's will? To reclaim our City for our own? If only Borormir were alive, he would please me…"

Knowing that he was being bated into a suicide mission yet that it was the only way to please his father, Faramir stopped his tears with an effort and took a step forward to kneel before the seated older man.

"Then since you are robbed of your son, I shall go in his stead," His soft voice was strong and surprisingly clear as he spoke yet void of its usual warmth as if his father's rash, evil words had bled his already wounded soul beyond its limit, "But if I should return, think better of me father."

Denethor growled as his son rose to his feet with a last small favour asked and turned away with a scathing response.

"That would depend on the manner of your return."

* * *

He felt numb as he allowed his feet to carry him mechanically away from the Steward's chair. Sea grey eyes remained fastened steadily onto the marble flagstones beneath him as Faramir took the long walk down the great hall, aware of the eyes, those benevolent and pitying, as well as those triumphant and derogatory, following his slow progress.

Pace.

The dim echo of his boots on the hard floor kept a rhythm that beat in time with Faramir's aching heart.

Pace…pace…pace…

Refusing to appear as crushed as he felt the young ranger of Ithilian straightened his shoulders with a pride he did not feel and lifted his eyes from the floor to instead focus on the large, ornately decorated doors ahead of him. With a sigh he reached them and stepped out into the blazing sunshine, so unlike the dim chambered hall which he had left behind.

Faramir closed himself up within his chambers once more after a brief walk through the city and relished in the cool solitude which his small abode offered. His rooms were very humble for a son of the Steward, unlike those of his elder brother which were decorated with all the trophies and awards given to the braver son. Faramir, the smaller, more scholarly of the pair, had taken no joy in their training as children, preferring instead to sit with his books than to practice with swords for there was no glory to be had in slaying in his eyes, and he would never win renown with a blade for his skill lacked as he had not the strength of warriors as great as his brother. Boromir, for his part, always helped his younger brother and as such Faramir's skill surpassed those of most all men even if he could not see such. But the younger brother had a skill with the bow that the older lacked, having not the patience for it, and so one award rested on his desk amidst the scrolls and books littered across it; first place in an archery competition, a feat that had allowed him his wish to be stationed in the land of Ithilian as Captain. His one pride.

A tender smile passed over his face as Faramir recalled the day he had been gifted the award: Boromir had wrapped him up in a hug fierce enough to snap weaker men's bones, jovially saying, "_I knew you could do it, brother. Well done!"_ Even his father had looked pleased with him as he had shyly presented the small trophy and had bestowed such a genuine smile of pleasure and pride on his son that tear's formed anew in Faramir's eyes at the memory.

He dashed them away fiercely with the back of his long-fingered hand.

_You wish now that our places had been exchanged, that I had died and Boromir had lived…Yes, I wish that…_

Once more grief marred his handsome face before Faramir locked it deep inside of himself to go about his tasks without feeling. He swiftly packed a few provisions into his small saddle bag and dressed for battle. He glanced at himself in the looking glass set upon the back of his wardrobe door and he did not know the grim- faced man that stared back at him.

"What have I become?" he muttered, then banished such thoughts with a shake of his head as a knock sounded.

"Come," he called out, and even to his own ears his voice sounded hollow. "Mithrandir," he acknowledged his guest with a dip of the head, not at all surprised to see his mentor standing before him with a frown. He turned back to survey himself to avoid the wizard's intent stare, "I cannot bear such judgment from you Gandalf. What do you want of me?"

"I want you not to throw your life away in rashness Faramir!" the wizard replied, taking the young man by his shoulders to give him a shake, yet still the sad eyes would not meet his own fiery gaze. "I want nothing of you save that you go knowing that your father's grief over Boromir does not mean he does not love you, Faramir, know your own worth."

An embittered laugh escaped Faramir's full lips as he turned desolate eyes towards Gandalf.

"Gandalf, friend…such falsities I would not expect from you. But do not fear! I know my worth ... Yes, Gandalf, I will meet this end knowing I am helping to save the city which I love and hold dear, knowing that Boromir would be proud of me."

Gandalf's wise eyes darkened at his young friend's words, truly his mind had been poisoned by Denethor for too long. It seemed he wanted to die. "There are those who care and love you Faramir, do not let your father's words blind you to that!" he cried, white hair flying out behind him as he gesticulated passionately.

A softening of the hardened face which Faramir had assumed was his reward as the young ranger stooped to pick up his sword and girt it to his middle, "Goodbye my friend, may you fare well in these dark days and come out once again to the light!"

"And you also," Gandalf said gravely as the dark haired man walked past him, head held high and of noble bearing as he went to meet his doom. He worried for Faramir, had never before seen him so lugubrious of spirit, and gave a prayer for his return to safety.

* * *

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**Chapter Two: A Desperate Defense**

Faramir began the long walk through the white-paved streets of Minas Tirtih, winding his way along each of the Seven Circles to pass through their respective Gates. His handsome face was set in grim determination though his step was strangely light to those that watched him from their windows calling out "Be safe Captain!" and other well-wishes. Faramir merely nodded at them as he passed, allowing his expression to relax into its more natural repose as he continued inexorably to his destination: the stables.

There he found his mount, a dark stallion of gentle temperament that had seen him safely through many dangers.

"I wonder if you shall see me through this danger, friend." Faramir said thoughtfully. Would he ever see the White City again, the Tower of Ecthelion glinting like a crystal in the afternoon sunshine and the banner of the Stewards fluttering in the breeze?

The young Lord made his way back into that sunshine and breathed in the clear, crisp air blowing from the cold lands of the North and he spared a thought for the men of Rohan, who had been bade leave their homes to ride to the aid of Gondor. Faramir trusted to the Old Alliance despite his father's doubts; Rohan would come…but would they be too late?

"Captain, the men are waiting for you,"

Faramir turned at the familiar voice and directed his thoughts back from their wandering path to address those fated to go with him to Osgiliath. He exited the final Gate of Minas Tirtith to find a small company of men assembled on the field before him.

_There are so few…_he thought dismally, _we have not a chance, there are too few…_

His moods ever changed swiftly and so something within Faramir stirred in denial of his dour pronouncement, railed against the odds to bring life once again to his face. He would not succumb to fear or hopelessness! He was of the line of Hurin, was Captain of Ithilian! He must set the example for his men.

"My brothers!" he began, and his voice was like music as it carried loudly over the Pelennor, alternately gentle or stirring, "The time has come to take up your swords, to loosen you quivers, for we ride now to defend our lands. We may ride to our doom, but I say to you this; Behold! The sun yet shines! And while she smiles down upon us there is still hope…but we must not trust to her light to guide us, we must trust in each other! We must trust in courage! For we shall be the hope that lights the way for those whom we leave behind…I will fight this Darkness, for you, my loyal friends, for the families and loved ones that await you, and those who we have lost…I fight for Gondor! Fight with me! Fight for Gondor!"

The Captain ended his speech to cheers and ovations for he spoke with earnest feelings and was well loved by his men. They stood gazing at him with coruscating eyes full of trust and hope and Faramir's gentle heart was touched. He regained his breath and mounted his steed, turning to look back up at the gleaming city before he spurred him on.

"For Gondor!" he cried.

They rode at a steady canter to Osgiliath, preserving the energy of their mounts lest they must rapidly flee. As the afternoon wore on and the sun was high in the azure sky they made the city wall. Faramir ordered a halt and began giving orders to his men. They soon set out on foot towards the river. The Anduin glimmered in the sunshine yet no life stirred around its fast-flowing waters; no birdsong could be heard amidst the trees, nor any fish splashing gently amidst the ripples. Faramir furrowed his brows and shot a glance at his comrade, Damrod, he too had noticed and seemed ill at ease with such foreboding.

"Something is amiss Captain, the animals can sense it," he whispered, dark eyes scanning the surroundings across the river.

Faramir nodded sagely, "Indeed," he too scanned the surrounding area but even his keen sight could not perceive anything hidden in the ruins and shadows of the Eastern bank. Something which troubled him more greatly than if he had seen a score of orcs.

"The Enemy knows we are here Damrod," he said softly, "We must be careful for they could be watching us anywhere…This rests ill with me my friend, I fear a trap."

The older man agreed and went about spreading the word to the men so that before any time had passed a heavy silence reigned, an unnatural stillness hanging like a blanket of gloom over the soldiers of Gondor. Faramir tried to project an air of confidence to hearten the others but he too was unable to completely mask his worry.

_Where are they? Why do they hide and play with us instead of fighting!?_

The hours passed without event and so it was that evening approached before any stroke was made. With the dying light of the sun as their ill omen the men of Gondor espied the Enemy crossing the river under cover of shadow and gloom.

"To your stations! They come!" Faramir ran amongst his troops, fleet footed and sure even in the dim half-light.

"They come," he repeated to himself grimly.

The first clash of sword upon sword was heard as the splash of boats heralded the arrival of their foes on the Western shore.

"Spears! Spears!" Faramir shouted, pushing forwards to the heat of battle, "Archers to me!"

The young Captain tried to mask his horror as he beheld the sight before him; several of his men were already dead for orc archers were picking them off from other boats all across the river, filled with the Enemy.

_Elbereth protect us! There are so many of them, this is folly!_

He was the first to lose an arrow from the Western bank and his aim was ever true. Rapidly he dispatched a number of Enemy archers, all the while shouting orders to his men. A dark shafted arrow whizzed past his ear and he sprang aside with a glower, calling out, "Archers fall back! Swords forwards!"

Unsheathing his own blade he sprang ahead to lead the assault. Screams met his ears, blood curdling sounds of dying men, of agonies untold.

"For Gondor!" Faramir yelled, his soft voice gone hoarse from use. But still the men obeyed the authority it held and rallied to their brave Captain.

With a battle cry the young ranger leapt forth and his pale visage was stern to behold as his raven dark hair blew about him in the wind. His blade hewed through the teeming masses of orcs to leave a trail of devastation in his wake. But for every beast that he felled several more jumped to replace it. The young Captain quickly realized the futility of their fight as a mass of newcomers could be seen approaching rapidly.

"Fall back! Fall back!" he screamed, parrying a swift blow. "Fall back to Minas Tirith!"

A jeer went up from the Enemy who pressed on harder cutting down any in their path. Men dropped all around Faramir and his eyes took in the carnage with horror, distracted long enough for a whip lash to catch him on the thigh. A short cry escaped him but he soon recovered his wits and cut the great length of pronged leather in two. His foe growled, a low menacing rumble that seemed to emanate from the very earth itself. Faramir quickly dispatched him, forcing the mal-shaped body into the river and reared back quickly with disgust as the blood soaked water lapped over his feet.

_…So much blood…_

The Anduin itself flowed red in the darkening evening and the banks were slick, mirroring the bloodied clouds of Mordor. Countless men cried out beneath him but he could do nothing to ease their passing and so they cried out their pain before the orcs cut off their screams.

"To Minas Tirith!" Faramir yelled yet again. He watched as a number of men managed to escape and caught a glimpse of Damrod amidst them. "Damrod! Lead the retreat!"

"But Captain-"

"Do it!" Faramir ordered sternly. He remained with the rear guard.

His arms were aching with the strain of the fighting, and his leg burned with each beat of his heart. Warm blood gushed down his thigh as he ran out of Osgiliath, back to the city gates to find his mount. A sharp whistle sent the beast reluctantly towards him and Faramir gratefully patted its neck as he swung up and charged off. He glanced behind him to see hordes of orcs following their progress on fleet, agile limbs.

"Make haste!" he shouted.

From the side there suddenly appeared men of Harad, bearing their ugly standard and wielding their scimitar blades. So they were fighting for Sauron Faramir realized, disgust and dismay vying for first place in his stormy eyes.

…_There are too many! We will never make the Gate!_

"Hold the lines! Stay together!" Faramir cried desperately, spurring onwards as his men began to drift. He had them under control until a shrill cry rent the air and pierced their hearts like a frozen arrow, instilling fear and hopelessness.

"Nazgul!"

"HOLD!" Faramir entreated, falling back to the aid of the rear guard once more. "Have courage!"

But a second cry was too much as the Fell Beasts swooped and wheeled overhead, messengers of doom. His men broke away and were then quickly hewn by the Southrons of Harad.

"NO!" he cried, trying to keep order, but it was of no use. They heeded him not and so before his eyes his men were trampled into the dirt, staining it red with their blood. A new, clear sound was carried on the wind and Faramir's heart rejoiced to hear it; the pure sound of silver trumpets. He squinted ahead and saw a company of mounted men pouring out of the Gate to Minas Tirith. His uncle, Prince Imrahil, rode at their head crying, "Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!" and his blue banner whipped in the wind.

"Mithrandir!" Faramir breathed in shock, for a White Rider, swift as even the Nazul overhead, broke passed the knights of Dol Amroth. The old wizard careered onwards, dirt flying up in little motes beneath his horse, with his arm held aloft, and out of it emanated a blinding white light concentrated in a wide arc which he directed towards the winged beasts wreaking terror on the Gondorians. The shaft of light was dazzlingly bright and it drove back the Nazgul who wheeled away with horrible screams, even in their retreat able to freeze the blood of men with fear.

But the Southrons pressed on, and the orcs also. Faramir's spirit quailed further still as a second silver trumpet blared, signalling a halt. His men turned to him in dismay, their eyes beseeching him, questioning their Captain, _Why do they stop? Why do they turn back?_

But Faramir had no answers.

"Flee! Make haste to Gondor!" he shouted, trying to stave off the masses surrounded them. They had to make a last break! It was then he noticed the White Rider, for Gandalf had not heeded the trumpet call, he rode onwards, a shinning beacon of light and a last beacon of hope for the men of Gondor as they scrambled towards him. He gathered them to himself as a shepherd does his flock and Faramir breathed a sigh of relief for he knew then that they had reached safety.

He spurred his mount, leg aching furiously, and urged the rear guard onward to the salvation of the City Gates. But a mounted champion of Harad bore down upon them and Faramir knew he alone could outmatch the swarthy man. He brought his horse to a halt as the others hurried past him and faced his nemesis with pride..._For Boromir!_

The orcs and other Southrons continued more slowly than their mounted Captain, though they inexorably closed the distance to the young ranger as he parried blow after ruthless blow.

The army of Gondor and Dol Amroth pressed on once again.

Faramir desperately swung his sword, his arm screaming with overuse as it struck the armoured body and pierced through it into the soft flesh beneath. The black eyes stared in shock as blood pooled over the Southron's lips and Faramir grimaced for the horror of battle.

A sudden gasp escaped his lips as a jolt of fire impaled his shoulder. He dropped his sword reflexively and reeled forwards with a groan, hand groping to the inflicted wound. Warm blood ran over his fingertips and Faramir suppressed another exclamation of pain as the fire spread outwards from the dart embedded in his shoulder.

He gave a grim chuckle for the irony of it, that he should fall within sight of safety...

The young Captain tried to carry onwards but his arm would not heed his commands and fell limp and useless by his side and numbness spread through his aching body. His vision shimmered and went dull as he slipped off his mount to land on the unyielding ground below, aware of a cry of joy from his foes before consciousness was stolen from him and he was plunged into darkness, with a sigh and a bittersweet smile.

_I come to you now, brother..._

* * *

Prince Imrahil's keen grey eyes watched in dismay as Faramir was struck. His nephew should never have been sent on such a mission! Never!

The tall knight hurried onwards with a fierce cry, tossing a javelin at an approaching Haradrim. He would not let them touch Faramir's body...

The Prince dismounted on a jump to land beside the stricken body of his sister's second child. For a moment he froze, hands outstretched to the younger man, face a mask of fear.

"My Lord?" a tentative voice broke into his reverie and Imrahil recovered himself.

"He yet lives!" he cried joyously, gathering up the lithe body in his own strong arms. He settled Faramir on the saddle before himself and thus bore him back to Minas Tirith to anguished cries of sorrow.

_"Lord Faramir!"_

_"Captain!"_

_"Captain Faramir!"_

The city Guards did not even ask the Prince of Dol Amroth for the passwords to the Gates when they saw his precious burden. The young man stirred with a groan of pain as Imrahil set him down outside the Citadel. But it seemed Denethor had been informed of his approach for he was already hastening towards the pair, eyes blazing with grief.

"My son!" he wailed brokenly as he clutched the once strong body to his own. He began to rock, whispering pleas to keep his son safe.

"Lord, your son yet lives," Imrahil said.

But Denethor was beyond reach for his grief was too great after the loss of his first son. He could not discern the shallow breathing and rapidly rising and falling chest of his youngest.

"Lord he lives!" Imrahil repeated, forcefully, and a small light came into the eyes of Denethor as he rose to embrace Imrahil with thanks. It was then that the Steward's eyes came to rest on the massing armies gathering outside the tall white walls of Minas Tirith. He stumbled away from the view, arm shielding himself as he cowered beside Faramir's body, stretched out upon the rim of the great fountain where the White Tree once bloomed but now stood withered and decaying, like the dwindling hopes of Men.

Denethor then took Faramir in his arms and bore him to his chambers to lay him out on a soft bed. He glanced, around the sparsely furnished room, filled only with books and scrolls but for one trophy. And the Steward of Gondor wept. He wept for the son he loved and did little to ever show it to, for the son of whom he was so proud and whom he had sent out to a needless death.

All night he sat beside his son, waiting to see if he would wake or speak before the end, but dawn soon approached and no change could be seen in the face of Faramir of Gondor. The siege went on unremitting below, and still Denethor sat gravely beside his young son as the day passed to bring nightfall once more.

"The house of his spirit crumbles..."

"He may yet wake, My Lord," said a small, hopeful voice.

Peregrin Took stood ever beside the Lord Denethor for he had sworn himself to his service. The small Halfling's moss green eyes shone with hope and truth but Denethor did not turn round to see them.

"Peregrin son of Paladin, I release you now from my service. Go now and leave me, comfort me not with false words. Farewell." Denethor replied, voice hoarse from weeping.

"I will not say farewell for the end has not yet come, Lord," protested the curly haired hobbit. But their discourse was interrupted by messengers come to seek the word and orders of the Lord of the City.

"Minas Tirith is burning, My Lord, what are your orders?"

"Burning..." Denethor whispered, and he forced to his feet to see the carnage for himself.

He was well convinced of it as he gazed out at the Pelennor for score upon score of the Enemy had massed there to surround the city during the hours of darkness, and there they had dug pits that they filled with fire. Even from the Seventh Circle dim noises of battle could be heard, shouts and screams...and flames could be seen relentlessly devouring the lowest circle where men fled before the onslaught of power.

"Why do the fools flee?" asked the Steward as he watched his Guards leave their posts, "Better to burn sooner than later...for burn we must! Yes, there will be no tomb for Faramir and Denethor, we will have a pyre..."

Pippin's round eyes became wide as he listened to the mad ramblings of the Lord Denethor in alarm.

"He is already burning...already burning..." mumbled Denethor, as he sat crouched over his son's body with a hand pressed against the fevered brow.

"Lord he is fevered, he needs medicine! He is not dead! He needs medicine!" Pippin cried imploringly as Denethor bade his servants to carry the bed to Rath Dinen and the Houses of the Dead. But he was ignored as the procession left with slow, measured steps to take the long walk to the Silent Street to lay there their burden to rest in the longest of sleeps.

Reluctantly Pippin followed behind, mesmerized with the horror of it all and longing to do something to help but knowing not what to do. Passed domed towers of shimmering white, they walked, footsteps echoing eerily in that soundless place, down the long cobbled street to the House of the Stewards.

"Bring wood and oil!" Denethor said harshly, "Here we will take our slumber, undisturbed and eternal..." With that Denethor swung open the great doors to the Stewards' House to reveal one stone bed upon which no embalmed body lay. He set Faramir upon the bed and then lay down beside him whispering, "Already burning..."

"Bring wood and oil!" he cried again and Pippin could stand no more.

"Gandalf! Where is Gandalf?" he squealed as he ran through the city. He was startled by the noise after the deathly still of the Silent Street and stood for a few brief seconds blinking owlishly. "Where is Gandalf?"

The shadows of night were slowly lessened as the sun crept up over the horizon as Pippin searched all the levels of the city, and as the first rays of the sun sang out in glory for the new days rising, a trumpet blared loudly. Far it was carried but it filled the hearts of men with hope for Rohan had come! Pippin rejoiced at the sound and tears sprang into his eyes as he continued on his errand.

After a few minutes of searching he saw a flash of white and rounded a corner to see the wizard in the midst of a fight. His high-pitched voice carried over the deeper shouts of the Gondorians and, recognising it, Gandalf turned to face his young friend.

"Fool of a Took!" he cried, sweeping across the street, "What are you doing here? It is not safe!"

Pippin ignored the anger in the wizard's eyes, recognizing it as fear for him; instead he pulled urgently on the white robes swishing before him as he implored, "Lord Denethor has gone mad! He's going to burn Faramir alive! Gandalf you must save him!"

And so the White Wizard and Peregrin Took hurried back to the Sixth Level and burst into the House of the Stewards just as a flaming torch was being carried forth.

"Stay this madness!" Gandalf cried, disturbing the reverent peace and quiet of the chamber. He swung out his staff, knocking a torch out of the hands of the Guard who bore it. Denethor sat up and glowered at Gandalf, jumping down to the floor with an animalistic snarl. He was sent reeling by Gandalf's staff as the wizard disarmed the remaining Guards. But already oil dripped over the ranger's body and the twisted face of his father...

Pippin rushed on to Faramir's aid, pushing at the young Lord's body to try and rock it off of the hastily erected pyre. The hobbit screamed with exertion but would not give in, finally tumbling to the floor just as Denethor got back to his feet and hurried forwards with spittle flying from his mouth in his rage.

"You will not take my son from me!" He roared, snatching up a torch which he brandished at the Halfling. The flame licked at his heels and caught on Faramir's leg, drenched in oil as it was.

"Gandalf!" Pippin cried, retreating as best he could from the arc of firelight whilst batting furiously at the small blaze on the young Captain's leg. The wizard spun around, knocking Denethor onto the pyre where he dropped his torch with a tortured wail as flames reared up around him, engulfing him...

The sparks flew high as the maddened Steward writhed in pain, still crying out for his son.

"Faramir!"

As if hearing his father's voice, Faramir's eyes fluttered open in response and a momentary lucid smile crossed Denethor's craggy face before he was consumed by hungry flames. The young ranger groaned, head tossing as his eyes slid shut once again.

* * *

TBC...next chapter will introduce Eowyn. Hope you're liking it so far.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**Chapter 3: The Red Arrow and the White Lady**

It had been several days since Gondor had called for aid, several days since the men of Rohan had been called from their cold, green lands in the North to honour the Old Alliance. They had made haste, singing of war with lusty excitement as their spears glinted and shone under the warmth of the sun, ready to taste blood once again.

But there was one who rode amongst them in secret, silent, more grim and excited than all the others; The Lady Eowyn of Rohan, sister-daughter of King Theoden, had donned the garb of man and hidden herself amongst the Riders of the Mark, railing against the cage imposed upon her by her woman's form and the expectations of men.

No, she had had enough of waiting, of skulking in the shadows, she would fight for her country and those she held dear, and have renown in battle. She would not be left behind, forgotten and abandoned, left to lead the womenfolk and children like some maid. She would ride to war. To glory. To death…for she had naught to live for.

_It is but a shadow and a thought that you love…_

The unbidden words echoed about her mind, taunting, cruel and her heart clenched beneath its heavy mail shirt as the memories floated back to her…

_The night was dark outside, the stars overhead offering some scant lighting aside from the torches burning beside each tent, the flames flickering in a gentle, cool breeze which carried into the tent in which Eowyn of Rohan sat listening to the tales of the lords before her with ill-concealed need._

_She felt her heart swell with pride as she heard of her uncle's deeds at the battle of Helm's Deep, glad that he had finally found his strength again, that Wormtongue no longer haunted him. She cast her mind aside from thoughts of the foul man as a shiver crept up her spine, focusing her attentions instead upon Aragorn, Chief of the Dunedain, heir to Isildur's throne…a small smile played about her lips as she watched him and a thanks fell from her tongue once he finished his tale of battle, and she invited her guests to take their rest. _

_Her brow furrowed as Aragorn told her of his plans to leave early the next morning, perhaps even before dawn on an urgent errand._

"_Then it was kindly done, lord, to ride so many miles out of your way to bring tidings to Eowyn, and to speak with her in her exile," she said softly, her eyes alight. _

"_Indeed no man would count such a journey wasted," Aragorn replied, and Eowyn's heart leapt at his praise, a blush suffusing her cheeks, "and yet, lady, I could not have come hither, if it were not that the road I must takes leads me to Dunharrow."_

_Slow realization dawned clear upon Eowyn's face and her mood darkened in anxious foreboding, __**He cannot take that road…surely…**_

"_Then you are astray; for out of Harrowdale no road runs east or south; and you had best return as you came," she said aloud._

_A gentle smile graced Aragorn's lips before his face became grim, determined, and Eowyn saw that he was sincere, "Nay, lady, I am not astray; for I walked in this land ere you were born to grace it. There is a road out of this valley, and that road I shall take. Tomorrow I shall ride by the Paths of the Dead."_

_She felt the blood leech from her face in horror…__**why does he seek death? We shall have no hope if he does not ride with my brother where his sword is needed.**_

_And so she had asked him, once the company had departed for sleep and they were alone under the stars._

"_I do not seek death Eowyn, nor do I choose paths of peril. I go because I must, it has been appointed; were I to go where my heart dwells, far in the North I would now be, wandering in the fair valley of Rivendell." He had said, a wistful sigh escaping him._

_Silence stretched out between them as turmoil raged within Eowyn, the truth of his words piercing her heart, draining her hopes. He loved another, saw her only as a wayward child who tired of her duty, and who pitied her failing spirit. She was tired of duty, tired of pity. She wanted love, freedom…respect._

"_Let me ride with you then. For I am weary of skulking in the hills, and wish to face peril." She had asked, desperately, defiantly, her chin jutting out obstinately._

"_I would say to you, Stay! For you have no errand in the South." He responded._

"_Neither have those others who go with thee. They go only because they would not be parted from thee-because they love thee." __**I love thee…**_

_There was no going back now, no chance to take away her rash words. The pity in his eyes was too much to bear after her admission. The hand he reached out to wipe away her tears a show of the only affection he could give her. _

"_It is but a shadow and a thought that you love," he had said gently. And she had leaned into his touch for a moment and then pulled back and fled, shame and anger burning her tear-streaked face as sorrow filled her gaze, unaware of the sorrow and regret in the eyes of the man watching her escape. Eowyn had fled to her private tent, sobs wracking her slender frame as she cast herself out upon the low bedroll, golden hair spilling about her. _

_When she had risen in the morning to bid her guest a final farewell, her face had been as one set in stone; expressionless, devoid of any feeling save the hopelessness and despair that her eyes betrayed._

But now her face showed not any despair. Anger flashed in the steely eyes that looked out at the passing fields and hills, grim determination setting her jaw hard and her lips into a thin line. The long ride made her forget the dark haired ranger who had turned his back on her and walked into darkness. And so she rode unto darkness herself; the White Lady no more. Now, she was Dernhelm.

* * *

TBC...

A/N: thank you to my reviewers, I appreciate your comments and I hope that you like Eowyn so far. As I have been ill the last few days I have the next chapter ready too so you can get that now...others will be slower, apologies in advance!


	4. Chapter 4

**Hopes and Dreams**

**Chapter 4: Of Silver Trumpets and a Red Dawn**

Darkness pressed heavily upon the Riders of Rohan as they made the long journey to Gondor's stone city. It caressed them; cold, unwanted fingers groping over their bodies, searching…weakening…A living shadow it invaded their minds, whispering of despair and failure.

Silence reigned.

Even the footfalls of the horses were only a dim echo, a hollow mockery of sound.

Eowyn shivered as the cold crept under the heavy wool of her cloak, her empty gaze taking in the stark certainty in the eyes glancing back at her that death would come for them, was already stalking them, knowing the same brittle acceptance emanated from her own lusterless eyes.

She turned her attention from the stillness of the air, focusing instead on the small Halfing whom she bore before her. A faint line creased her smooth brow beneath its helm, _Surely he has some idea of who I really am, _she mused, recalling how she had taken pity on him-he too had been left behind as if useless and of little courage, and so she had offered him a place upon her steed.

Hazel eyes turned up to meet her own, as if conscious of her gaze.

"How do you fare today Master Merry?" she asked.

"In truth," the young hobbit answered, "I am afraid, Dernhelm, I do not wish for death and yet I do not think I will escape it. I am no warrior like you."

"I will protect you," Eowyn promised, ignoring the whispering voice at the back of her head _you are no warrior, woman!_

The Riders came to a halt in sight of the great city of Minas Tirith. It was surrounded. Teaming with evil.

And Eowyn sat upon her mount, and she felt fear once more. The blackening despair and numbness was replaced with terror. Her eyes were wide and round, like a child, as she took in the sheer masses below her.

A voice interrupted her thoughts, breaking into the fear catching hold of her heart, and she found suddenly that she could breathe again. She knew that voice, had ridden out in defiance of its orders so that she may hear it ere the end. It was her King. She heeded not his words as she watched him furtively, careful he should not see her, but only marveled at his bravery, for his eyes shone with hope and dignity and all things good and pure and strong. She heard not the words which he spoke but they filled her, they pulsed within her body lending her courage, reminding her of herself; for she _was_ a shieldmaiden of the House of Eorl. And yet she was Dernhelm and she was no-one, she was free!

_Forth Eorlingas!_ The trumpets sounded as the day dawned, clear and bright and true. Tears sprang, unbidden, into Eowyn's eyes as the noise penetrated into her soul, resonant and achingly poignant.

Eowyn became aware suddenly that they were moving again and she was screaming, her voice mingling with the cries around her _Rohan! Forth Eorlingas! _

Her pulse raced, blood pounding in her ears as adrenaline surged through her body. She felt free at last. Fey she was as she rode in the wake of her King and then her brother, finally able to protect them and to gain the glory she so coveted. The Rohirrim were singing again; she shuddered at the sound, for it was beautiful yet deadly and fell. Wild now, unbridled. Her blood sang with them, swelling.

A shrill cry rent the air and the singing stopped. Silence was the gloating master once more. Her horse bucked and she found herself on the hard ground, looking around dazedly, Merry crawling at her side.

"To me!" cried Theoden, oblivious of his darkness closing in upon him...

Eowyn froze in terrified certainty as the shadow took form.

She felt cold suddenly. Unbearably, deathly cold. The adrenaline left her and she shook uncontrollably, her face leached colourless, her throat hoarse from the scream she still heard ringing inside her head.

It felt like a dream. _Wake up! Wake up! It is not supposed to end thus…_

Dazed, she stumbled towards her uncle, even as he was crushed, helpless beneath his mount, the winged beast of terror wheeling overhead squawking in triumph as it landed atop him. She stood before his crumpled body, tears streaming over her face as she took in the blood on his lips staining them in a mockery of life. _No! It was not you who was to die today…_

"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!"she said angrily, forgetting her fear.

"Come not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye," Came the sibilant voice of the Wraith King.

Eowyn trembled, but defiantly hefted her blade and shield.

"Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may." She returned, feeling a calmness borne of rage and loss seep into her bones.

"Thou fool!" cried the Witch King, "No living man may hinder me!"

And a laugh broke from her lips, and it was terrible and cold. She loosed her helm and let her hair fall free, glimmering golden in the morning light, her fair face hidden no more.

"No living man am I, you look upon a woman. Eowyn I am, and you stand between me and my kin. Begone! If you be not deathless, for living or dark undead, I will kill you if you touch him!"

Reflex took over as the vile beast swooped closer and with a scream she lunged to meet it, severing its head in a swift, sure stroke. Blood, black and foul, gushed over her arms. Her mind reeled… It should have been warm…

She jumped backwards, eyes wide with shock and fear, as its failing body shuddered before her and the King of the Black Rider's himself rose then, stepping away from his winged pet. Mist shrouded his shadowy form, but it did nothing to shield Eowyn from the malice in his sightless gaze and she quailed.

Uselessly, she raised her shield against the huge mace as it swung in a wide, deadly arc towards her, a cry escaping her as it crashed into her arm, splintering both bones and shield.

A shadow fell across her and she looked up into the faceless darkness of the Wraith King as he laughed, his disembodied voice ghosting into her mind, "Thou fool".

But then an unearthly scream followed his laughter and Eowyn saw with wonder that Merry had driven his small blade into the shadow's form and caused it pain. She struggled, quickly to her feet, her head spinning and ears ringing, and with a fierce cry true to the wild Rohirric blood beating in her veins, she smote him down, crumpling upon the body of her foe, senseless, spent.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

Chapter 5: The Hand of a Healer, The Hand of a King

The fever raged within Faramir. It would not be abated, and the Healers who tended him began to despair that he would not survive, and so they did all they could to make him comfortable as the great battle continued in earnest on the Pelennor and yet more soldiers, both of Gondor and of Rohan, flooded the halls of the Healing Houses. So it was for the whole fell day and only the coming of evening saw help arrive in the form of Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. He was summoned to the Healing Houses by Gandalf the White, for there were many there who needed his aid, not least of all Faramir, who faded quickly as the day wore on, his strength finally giving out.

"The wound is not deep and yet he will not awake..." Aragorn mused from his position beside the younger man, "Darkness must have crept up on him for he was ever near the Shadow, I fear now it hangs over him heavily...the Black Breath."

The Healers gasped in horror and Imrahil, who had returned safe and well from the battle, also looked on in dismay for the only remaining member of his sister's family.

"Is there nothing you can do, Aragorn?" he asked quietly, face troubled.

"Ioreth," Aragorn called, looking to the old healer hovering by the doorway, "Do you know of the plant athelas? Kingsfoil?"

"Yes milord, some would be in the stores or if there is none left someone can be sent to fetch it," she replied with a curtsy of her plump body.

"Bring it with haste," Aragorn said gravely. And he placed his hand over Faramir's sweat dappled forehead, calling his name more and more softly until it seemed he had strayed into a dream.

_He was shrouded by mist._

_It was stifling and cold. Dark _

"_Faramir!" he called, keen ranger's eyes searching the gloom for the figure of Boromir's younger brother. He could not fail him, he must help him, for there were none left who could but him. _

_He repeated the name and a low moan drifted to his ears. He turned around, the mist grabbing at his cloak, tugging him back as he waded through it inexorably. He would not be defeated! He was heir to the throne of Gondor, no Darkness would defeat him!_

_Suddenly the mist cleared as a harsh wind stirred, and there was Faramir. He looked about him serenely, not feeling the biting sting of the cool wind that whipped his long raven locks before his eyes, a sense of peace and acceptance radiating from him._

"_Your time had not yet come, my friend." Aragorn said, going towards him._

_Melancholic eyes stared back at him with a weighted gravity too old for one of the younger man's years. He did not even have to speak for Aragorn to know what he meant._

"_No! Your time has not come Faramir, you are young and have much to look forward to in life."_

"_What have I to look forward to? There is naught to live for now…my family is gone…they beckon to me…do you not heard them…I must find them…" Faramir said, trailing off as if entranced._

_Aragorn took him by the arms roughly. "Boromir would wish you to live your life to the fullest, the way Eru intended it," he reasoned._

_A cloud of doubt shadowed the peaceful clarity of a moment before and Aragorn pressed on._

"_You must choose life, you have so much to give Faramir. Middle Earth will need good men like you in times to come."_

_Faramir canted his head to one side and peered at his elder thoughtfully. "You believe, then, that we can win this war. That there is still hope?"_

"_I do." Aragorn responded, and as he spoke it seemed to Faramir that a gem glowed, kingly, upon his forehead, green and bright. And it was as if Aragorn read his mind as he said, "The Sun yet shines for us, Lord Faramir, to guide us on our way. You have only to open your eyes."_

_It came to pass then that the mist cleared away, chased back by the Sun who shyly appeared overhead, and the wind died down to a gentle breeze. Faramir closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a smile upon his face. But when he opened them Aragorn was gone, his body fading into the distance, and Faramir followed him, trusting the man who he inexplicably knew was to be his king._

Aragorn stirred as Ioreth returned with the leaf and he crushed it into a bowl of steaming water which he held before the fevered man. The sweet scent filled the room and it seemed to all who watched that Faramir's breathing deepened, and lo! His eyes opened once more. With wonder he saw the image of the glowing gem upon Aragorn's brow again and he felt somewhat gladdened.

"You called me, my Lord. What does the king command?" Faramir croaked, yet a small smile was present on his weary face.

"Rest now Faramir, I shall return and for then I wish you to be ready, but for now; eat, sleep, and regain your strength." Aragorn said, and he stared into Faramir's eyes as the young man turned his head to the window in search of the Sun, the weak smile fading as he noted the twilit gloom outside, still flecked with reddened, angry flames.

_Is there really any hope left? h_e wondered, turning away with a sigh to notice his rescuer was gazing at him worriedly, as if searching for something that he could not find.

So it was with a troubled mind that the Lord Aragorn left to attend his other patients, Ioreth's shrill voice carrying to him as he left, "The King?!I told you; _the hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known_, I said!"

Aragorn next went to the Lady Eowyn of Rohan, and his face became yet more grim as he beheld the fair youth before him. Bitter guilt swirled in the pit of his stomach as he took in her wounds, knowing the most grievous of all had been inflicted by him.

_If only I had let her follow with me; perhaps then I could have kept her safe…_

"Aragorn," A voice interrupted his inner dialogue. It was Eomer. "Can you-will she-I cannot lose my sister…"

Aragorn turned to face the often stoic older brother of Eowyn, his normal calm shattered in the face of the revelation that his little sister was not safe in Edoras as she ought to be. His voice was thick with unshed tears that gleamed clearly in green eyes shadowed with grief.

"I will do what I can, fear not Eomer. She may not be beyond hope." He said gently, turning back to his patient to tend her wounds. He called for more athelas and allowed the fresh scent to calm him as he steeled himself to call Eowyn back into the light.

_It was icy cold. Snow drifted lazily from brooding clouds overhead. Aragorn shivered as his breath misted before his eyes. _

_"Eowyn," he called, "Eowyn?"_

_Then, she appeared before him, as white as the falling snow, tears frozen upon her cheeks._

_"Why do you tarry here My Lady?" Aragorn asked, stepping towards her._

_"I cannot go back. I will not!" Eowyn replied loftily, her head held proud._

_Sympathetic eyes looked back at her and Eowyn knew her own betrayed her fear and hopelessness, her hurt and anger._

_"You must come back. Come with me…"_

_"Nay! Here I shall remain. I have naught to return for as well you know," she spat, though her chin trembled._

_Aragorn felt the barb keenly. "I cannot offer you what you seek Lady, much as it grieves me. But do not think of such! Think of your brother, for he loves you dearly and would not loose you. I do not believe you will be alone."_

_Eowyn visibly bristled at his response, her eyes flashing like fire within her pale face. "Until the next battle comes! Comfort me not! For it is a woman's place to be alone is it not? To be left behind unwanted and unloved…"_

_Abruptly her anger faded to be replaced with sadness and fear._

_"Harken; do you not hear it? Your brother calls for you…will you not go to him?"_

_And Eowyn did hear it then. She bit her lip in indecision, her gaze locked on Aragorn. Her heart ached within her chest. He remained silent yet his countenance spoke of compassion. She wavered. How could she return to life with this pain hanging over her? Suffocating her with loneliness…and yet, the heartache in her brother's voice was also too much to bear. She could not carry the burden of his misery also. Would she ever find peace? It seemed it was denied her to choose even her own death… for she could not leave Eomer. She must comfort him by returning. She must not abandon her duty again…_

_She raised her eyes to meet Aragorn's and took his proffered hand as he smiled benignly down upon her, saying, "Have patience; happiness will come to you Eowyn. You are not alone…" _

Eowyn groaned as consciousness returned to her, for her body ached entirely. She sighed deeply as her eyes fluttered open.

"Eowyn!" It was Eomer. His handsome face was blotchy and damp with tears as he smiled down at her, hand stroking through her hair. "I thought I had lost you…"

She gave a tiny smile, attempting to reassure her sibling, when she caught sight of Aragorn retreating silently. Instantly the smile vanished and she screwed her eyes tight shut against the tears fighting for release…_ It is but a shadow and a thought that you love…I cannot give you what you seek… _

Eomer tried to comfort her, not understanding her sorrow. She pleaded exhaustion, feeling her soul break a little further as the lie fell easily from her traitor's lips. After a little more fussing from the Healer's and her brother, she was left alone to dwell on her misery. She looked about her new cage, hating the cold stone surrounding her, hating more the tremble of her failing limbs as she tried to sit. She barked out a laugh, bitterness leaking from her eyes as she flopped back onto her pillows.

_Why is it that I should live and our king perish?_

* * *

A knock startled Eowyn from her dark reverie, early the next afternoon. She ignored it and turned back to the window, ill pleased with the view it offered. But the knock came again and this time the door opened. Angrily she turned round, sharp words upon her tongue, but they died as she saw her brother's broad form shouldering his way through the door, knowledgeable understanding in his eyes.

"Eowyn, you must not lock yourself away or you will not heal." He said, heatedly.

"Maybe I do not wish to!" Eowyn spat back.

Her brother stilled at that, his face paling. He sat heavily beside her on her bed and reached out a hand, letting it drop tentatively over her quivering shoulder.

"You do not truly mean that..?" he mumbled, voice laced with uncertainty.

Eowyn but her lip but did not respond.

Fear blossomed in her brother's green eyes.

"What did you want?" Eowyn asked softly, breaking the stillness that hung about them stiflingly.

"I only came to see how you fared and if there was ought I could do for you before I leave."

Eowyn smiled a little at that, her hand grasping his now in thanks. Eomer's heart was always in the right place, and he truly loved and cared for her, "There is naught that you can do that you have not done already dear brother," she smiled, looking about her room at the bunch of flowers he has had delivered to her the night before. Her brow furrowed then, "What do you mean before you leave?"

"The Captains leave for the Black Gate upon the morrow."

"What?!" Eowyn exclaimed, "You mean to tell me then that you are to be part of such folly? You will surely perish…"

Eomer watched the emotions play across his sister's delicate features in rapid succession, heard them change her voice from angry to sad. He cringed.

"I must go. I am the King of Rohan now. It is my duty." He replied, bowing his head as tears filled his eyes.

A tiny hand reached out to grasp his own and he looked up into Eowyn's eyes, terror entering his own as he saw the wild look in them.

"Let me ride also, you will need all the arms you can get! I would not be parted from you brother. You are all I have left."

"No Eowyn. You cannot even stand let alone wield a blade! You should not have even been here!" he shouted, beginning to pace in agitation. With dismay he saw the blankets from Eowyn's bed be pushed back. Her jaw set stubbornly she clambered from it.

She was trembling and the pain sweeping through her limbs brought tears to her eyes. But Eowyn refused to let them fall. She steeled herself and raised her head defiantly, eyes locked onto those of her brother.

"Alright, you may be able to stand, but only just. Stay this foolishness Eowyn! Go back to bed." He said, pushing her onto her mattress.

"I can fight!" she protested.

"I know you can, but you must remain here in Minas Tirith. You will be safe here. I will not let you fight Eowyn, do not ask it of me again." He said sternly.

_And is this how it is to be? I, left behind as he men go off to war. I sought death and was denied, even now I am denied! Why is it my destiny to be caged?_

"Eowyn, if the worst should happen – you must return to Rohan and take up the rule there. I cannot let you come, you must understand, I am your brother. I must keep you safe when you are wounded. There is such little hope, but we must kindle it where we may. I put my hope for Rohan in you, little sister, if I should fall."

Eowyn gazed into his eyes and saw the truth of his words reflected there. She nodded quietly, accepting her fate.

"I am sorry. Be careful Eomer! I love thee," she whispered.

"And I love thee also. Do not weep. You are not alone here, Merriadoc will be your companion until I return to you. Farewell!"

With that he left and Eowyn listened to his retreating footfalls with a growing sense of doom.

When Faramir next awoke it was with a start the next morning. Sweat beaded on his forehead and across his broad chest as he battled to gain control of his laboured breathing. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling he sat up slowly, grimacing as pain lanced through his shoulder wound. His groan was followed by the opening of the door to his left as a healer bustled in laden with bandages.

"My Lord! You're awake, good. Are you alright? You look fevered..." an anxious hand found its way onto his forehead before a confused expression appeared on the young girl's face.

Faramir gave a small smile of reassurance, "Just a bad dream."

The girl's brown eyes lit up in sympathy as her dextrous hands went about checking his shoulder and then his leg wounds and those over his ribs. A small blush coloured her cheeks as she met his gaze after rebinding his wounds but Faramir scarcely noticed for his modesty had long rendered him blind to his effects upon women.

"If there is anything you need, Lord, just call for me. My name is Briel." And with a curtsey she left.

Faramir's smile faded as she left and he stared broodingly at the window at the foot of his bed, struggling towards it. His leg ached with the effort and he clutched at the whip lash with bared teeth before straightening up to look upon the East.

The shadow of Mordor met his gaze, red and black clouds belching out fumes to hide the sunlight. Minas Tirith swept out beneath him, and beyond the Pelennor, covered in scars and steaming piles of decay. The air reeked of death. His eyes were drawn regretfully to the Great River and Osgiliath. Flames could still be seen burning in the city and a pang resonated through his soul.

_Father will be so disappointed. The manner of my return is not one he would have wished for. _

A knock at his door caused him to turn around, grabbing up a quilt to cover his body. "Come," he said.

Prince Imrahil entered, his sea coloured eyes alight with happiness.

"Uncle," Faramir said, and there was a smile in his voice as he embraced the older man, grimacing as his ribs protesting the motion.

He allowed his uncle to fret over him for a moment as he was forced back onto the bed and he realised he was glad for its softness as a wave of dizziness swept over him as he all but collapsed back onto the mattress. He ignored the pointed stare Imrahil aimed his way, instead choosing to inquire about food.

"You have not yet eaten! You mustn't do this to yourself Faramir, you need to regain your strength." He admonished. The Prince called for a servant and a light breakfast was soon brought up for the young Captain of Ithilian.

"You look well, uncle." Faramir observed between mouthfuls of bread.

"Better than you for once, I grant you that!" Imrahil laughed, trying to lighten Faramir's dour spirits in the hopes of being rewarded with a smile. His nephew, ever obliging, gave a weak attempt at a grin but seeing it fail so miserably only caused his own smile to fade as he realised the extent of Faramir's mood.

Faramir avoided his eyes, instead looked himself over with a sigh._ I look awful._

An awkward silence descended for a few moments until Faramir inquired after the battle. Imrahil told him all that he had seen and heard, and so Faramir heard of the great deeds of Lady Eowyn and Meriadoc, Gandalf and Aragorn, and the coming of the Rohirrim as well as the passing of King Theoden of Rohan.

The young Captain's gentle heart was moved as he heard of Eowyn's fight to save her uncle and his pity went out to her. He greatly desired to look upon her and meet her, for she had defeated a foe beyond any of them and he held great admiration for her spirit and courage. But one question would not let his mind rest until answered.

"What about my father? You have not mentioned him, in fact you have done all you can to avoid mentioning him. Uncle..." he prompted.

Imrahil squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He should have known he couldn't keep this new grief from Faramir for long, his mind was ever sharp and keen.

"Denethor has passed and resides with his fathers."

All colour drained from Faramir's already pale face as shock set in.

"These are yours now, when you are ready," and Faramir numbly accepted the keys that his father wore, the Steward's keys.

"I am sorry, Faramir."

The injured man nodded mutely and turned empty eyes to his uncle, thoughts tumbling through his mind.

_I am alone now...I was such a disappointment to him, perhaps it is better he is not here to see my failure and the devastation that lies so heavily upon our City..._

A hand reached out to grasp his shoulder in comfort and Faramir stiffened.

"Leave me," Faramir said, a note of pleading in his voice.

Imrahil reluctantly obliged and left Faramir alone to grieve.

_Boromir was the first child, the one to be Steward. I will never live up to such expectation..._Faramir thought morosely as the loss of his beloved brother was reinforced. And so the tears began. They were slow at first, but as shock dissipated they came harder and wracked his frame in silent agony. His head swam as his breathing became laboured and pain blossomed over his chest as it constricted against battered ribs. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision and he coughed harshly. Briel came in to attend to his obvious distress, helping him take some water.

The young Captain could not look at her, his shame overcoming him at his state of discomposure.

"Thank you, I beg your pardon," he whispered quietly, eyes fixed upon the window at the foot of his bed. The desolation he beheld was mirrored in his own shining eyes. Briel quietly excused herself, sensing his distance, pleased when her path crossed with the Prince of Dol Amroth just outside. She told him of his nephew's condition and the older man grimly nodded before entering.

He feigned ignorance over Faramir's even more harried appearance, instead informing him of the Captains' decision to make for the Black Gate in an attempt to give the ring bearer time to destroy it without being noticed. All races of Middle Earth were to be represented.

"When does the party go?" Faramir asked eagerly, ignoring the fact that his body was too badly wounded for such a trip.

"I am sorry Faramir. We leave tomorrow..." Imrahil said softly.

"You have come then to bid me farewell?" Faramir questioned, his brows creased in worry. When his uncle nodded he had to look away for a moment to compose himself but his voice cracked as he said, "Be careful," _I cannot lose the only family I have left._

"I will come back Faramir, I promise you that. And I want to see you better when I return-you will take the rest you need?"

Faramir heard the uncertainty in Imrahil's voice yet he could not bring himself to dispel it, he merely gave a tight smile that did not reach his grey eyes.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for taking so long with this one guys, my muse vanished and I've been very busy and constantly ill. Anyhow, I hope to get more up soon, muse permitting of course...thanks for those who have shown their support. Glad you're enjoying it so far.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

Chapter Six: A Different Kind of Courage

The next day dawned bright and clear yet Faramir's heart was heavy; the Captain's would leave for the Black Gate that day, and he would be left behind, a disappointment to his people, a disgrace to his line.

He rose early and breakfasted in the quiet gardens located below his rooms. The gardens were quite large, full of lush grass and trees, and flowers of all colours and smells. The trees made Faramir feel calm, at ease; a peace gradually stole over him as the early morning chill was dissipated by the sun's golden rays.

"Lord Faramir! You're up early; how do you feel today? Can I bring you anything?"

The young man turned at the now-familiar voice of Briel. A tiny smile was her reward for her attentiveness.

"No thank you, Briel. I am quite content." Came his reply as he clasped his hands behind his back, ignoring the sudden stab of pain the motion caused, and stared up into the azure sky.

The maid then took her leave and Faramir was left to contemplate alone as sounds gradually drifted up from the lower levels of the city.

Solitude had never bothered the Captain of Ithilien; for most of his life he had enjoyed the peace and escape it offered. As a young boy Boromir had gently mocked him for it, saying he should let himself go sometimes, enjoy life, find a girl to keep him company instead of a book. Faramir smiled at the bittersweet memory of his brother's mischievous grin. But Faramir had never taken to the Gondorian girl's, ironically finding them too sombre, when no doubt to them he appeared stern. No, he had a lightness of spirit that they could never understand, and he longed for someone who could. Countless times he had told his brother, and father, to stop forcing young women on him, because it was too hard to constantly let them down. He had long ago given up on finding love-the Gondorian women were too frivolous- but instead harboured dreams of it, his romantic soul yearning for that which he did not have.

Faramir tore his mind away from his musings on love when the ache in his chest became too much to bear. _Even my family has gone, I am truly alone..._

He found himself upon the city walls looking down over Minas Tirith, now bustling and noisy beneath him. The sunshine glimmered off the paved streets and domed houses, each tier of the great city sparkling like a jewel. But the beauty of the scene was marred by the fields surrounding it. Faramir looked at the Pelennor sadly; no longer did the green grass sway in the wind, for scorched brown stumps was all that remained. The wind still held the acrid smell of burning.

Burning...burning...fire! Burning!

Faramir trembled as disjointed, blurred images assaulted his mind and pain shot through his limbs.

The young Captain leant on the walls as his weakness passed, thankful that none of the Healers had been present to see him. They, surely, would have sent him back to his room to miss the sight of the procession leaving Minas Tirith behind for Mordor.

Faramir followed their slow progress from his high vantage point, listening to the sounds of hundreds of feet marching in time, and of sad voices calling out farewells. Dust streamed into the air, billowing around the many bodies of men and hobbits, elves and dwarves, and beasts as they moved inexorably onwards, into the growing gloom.

Keen grey eyes searched out the familiar faces of his uncle and cousins. But Faramir could not see them amidst the multitude of blurry, sombre faces. He knew they would march near the head of the procession, where the nobility rode. The banners of Dol Amroth, Gondor and Rohan fluttered side by side; blue and black and green.

He could not help but wonder if he would ever see his friends again, or if he too would have to make a final stand against the armies of Mordor as they swarmed around his city, through it, and beyond...would his uncle and cousins perish before the Dark Lord's fortress, agonies untold torturing them before their ultimate demise..?

Faramir clenched his jaw, struggling with his thoughts as he longed to battle alongside his kin, to lose himself and all his pains in the oblivion of a desperate plight. He forced his raven locks away from his face as the wind picked up, steeling himself against his own imagination. Faramir realised then that it took a different sort of courage to be left behind, to endure endless hours of waiting while the fate or doom of the world was decided without him.

* * *

The next few days passed slowly and Faramir mechanically did as directed by the Healers when they were present to hover over him. He knew their attentions were bestowed with the utmost kindness and regard but he preferred to be left alone, away from prying eyes that saw too much, murmured words of sympathy and condolences: it was all too much to bear, his fraught emotions were cracking with the strain. He had more to worry over than the state of his health. But his strength was slowly returning, he could feel life again in limbs that were heavy, though he still felt unable to truly find the rest that his body so desperately craved for his sleeps were yet fitful and plagued by nightmares.

He had taken to returning to the gardens for much of each day for only there would he find some semblance of peace as the wind sighed through the trees and the sun warmed his body. It was thus that the Warden of the Houses found him, his handsome face turned to the sun as he stood upon the walls gazing eastward towards the dark brooding clouds of Mordor.

"Lord Faramir," he said, bowing, "Here is the Lady Eowyn of Rohan, she has been injured and lies within our care but is not content and wishes to speak with the Steward of the city."

Faramir turned round in surprise and his eyes came to rest on The White Lady of Rohan for the first time. His gaze swept over her, taking in the bound arm held against her side, the white pallor of her cheeks and the aching pain veiled behind blue eyes. Her sorrow pierced his gentle heart and his own expression softened in pity; _one so beautiful and strong should not feel such sorrow_.

"Do not misunderstand him my Lord," she said meeting his searching gaze, "It is not lack of care that grieves me for no houses could be fairer for those who desire healing, yet I do not. I wished for death in battle but here I remain though the battle goes on."

Faramir nodded to the Warden, who then departed. Eowyn still looked him steadily in the eye, a great pride emanating from her as she stood with her golden head held high. Her voice was dispassionate but Faramir recognised the look in her eyes as one he had seen in his own and he knew that he would do all he could to help this lovely woman.

"What would you have me do, lady? I also, am a prisoner of the healers." He said softly.

She did not answer, merely looked at him, taking in the strange man of Gondor who seemed at once gentle and stern, unsettled by the understanding she saw in his soft grey eyes. Did he truly know what it felt like to be kept a prisoner?

"What do you wish? If it lies in my power, I will do it." He assured her, after a continued silence.

"I would have you command this warden to let me go!" she replied forcefully. Faramir closed his eyes and opened them again, slowly, choosing his words carefully. He did not want to seem as if he was going back on his word even though he would not command the warden to release her, he could not allow her to throw away her life in rashness, even if he understood her desire to all too well.

"I myself am in his keeping, nor have I yet taken up my authority in the city. Even if I had I would still listen to his counsel."

He saw a moment of anger flash through Eowyn's eyes, and they appeared like an icy fire as she continued in exasperation, "But I do not desire healing! I want to ride to war like my brother Eomer, or better yet Theoden King who died in honour and now has peace."

"We cannot follow the Captains now, lady." Faramir said gently, quenching her ire with the reluctant sadness in his melodic voice, "It is too late. We must use a different sort of courage now, and endure with patience the hours of waiting. But, we may yet have a death in battle, though we will be better prepared to meet it if we listen to the Healers."

Faramir watched her intently for a moment as she let her proud head droop a little, like a flower wilting in the cold, and an uncontrolled tear tracked over her cheek.

She hated herself for appearing so weak in front of the strong Gondorian man. He did not weep or burden her with his sorrow! He stood there, gazing at her in sympathy and yet he too was clearly grievously hurt. His selflessness and understanding warmed the ice over her heart and yet it also unsettled her, though she knew not why.

She looked back up at him almost shyly, her voice young and sad as she whispered, "But my room does not look Eastward..."

Faramir's brows pulled together in compassion though he smiled soothingly, "That can be amended. In this I will command the warden. You shall have a window that looks East, whither all our hopes have gone, and you shall have leave to walk in this garden, under the sun. And here you will find me, watching and waiting, and also looking East...it would ease my care if you would speak with me, or walk with me at whiles."

Eowyn looked startled as he expressed his wish and her cheeks flushed.

"How should I ease your care, my Lord?" She asked, continuing abruptly and somewhat coldly, "And I do not desire the speech of living men."

Faramir steeled himself for giving her a plain answer, "Eowyn of Rohan...I say to you, you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers bright and fair, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful. It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the sun yet shines, I could still see you. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back."

Eowyn's eyes grew wide, almost fearful, "Alas, not me Lord! Shadow lies on me still. Do not look to me for healing-I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle."

Faramir could not hide his disappointment, but he had not dared expect anything less.

"I thank you that I do not have to keep to my chambers at least, I do not like to be caged." She gave a weak smile in an attempt to convey that her denial for company was not a reflection on him but the young Steward seemed to her almost wounded by her response. She felt herself begin to bristle, _I owe him nothing. _But she softened when he smiled again, his perceptive grey eyes holding a quiet wisdom.

Eowyn gave a small curtsey and excused herself. She glanced over her shoulder as she rounded the corner and caught the young Steward's eyes still on her, watching her retreating figure with interest. He smiled warmly and she felt a flush rise in her cheeks, hastily making her escape before he managed to unnerve her even more. It was only once she made it to the sanctuary of her room she realised she had been rather rude and so sat fretting over her manners when he had been so kind to her. Propriety demanded she pay her respects to his rank, and after all he had not asked overmuch. Yet fear denied the thought. He seemed to sense her loneliness and she had felt sure that she saw the same feeling reflected in the soulful eyes he had turned upon her, eyes that seemed to see right through her lies…she did desire speech, companionship…but could she give that which she so desired?

_I will go to the gardens tomorrow as he wished, _she vowed impulsively, a tiny smile flitting over her face as she recalled some of his words. _Yes, I will need a different sort of courage for that..._

* * *

_A/N: Many thanks to all you lurkers out there reading this and to those of you who have reviewed-I do not deserve the praise you have given me for this story. I am glad it has been recieved so well and hope I can continue to please! -Aliyssa x_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

Chapter Seven: Closer

The next morning when Faramir made his way to the gardens he was pleasantly surprised to see the Lady Eowyn pacing at the far end of the courtyard. She looked up as he approached, an anxious smile on her face.

"Good morning, my lady," Faramir said.

"My lord," she replied with a small nod, and he thought her somewhat bashful. After a few moments of silence during which they gazed helplessly at one another, each deciding if they should speak, they blurted at the same time.

"I did not-"

"I wanted to-"

Eowyn allowed a minute laugh to escape her, and a true smile graced her face as she indicated that he should speak first. Faramir looked at her in delighted shock, thinking the sweet bell-like jingle she produced almost as beautiful as her, before responding.

"I did not expect to see you...I thought perhaps I had offended you. I am sorry if I was too bold," he said uncertainly.

"I was merely startled...I am not used to such attentions." Eowyn replied.

"Then the men of Rohan must surely be blind, my lady, for you are most beautiful and valiant. I am honoured to finally make your acquaintance." He responded, and his instant reply somewhat shocked himself. He bit his lip anxiously, wondering if he should have held his tongue and kept his thoughts to himself as Eowyn's face flushed; he could not tell if it was from anger.

"I am not worthy of your honour Lord Faramir, but I thank you nonetheless." Eowyn said quietly, somewhat confused that someone such as he could hold her in such esteem. Many of the Gondorian's she had encountered had looked upon her disparagingly, disapproving of her taking up the sword. The renown she had fought for had felt quite meaningless, reflecting the emptiness in her heart, the loss. And yet here stood a man who lived in a country bound by etiquette, who_ honoured_ her, acknowledged her abilities. She was no mere woman to him, but a fellow warrior who had been as battle scarred as he. Eowyn felt quite confounded and humbled, she would not have expected such from one who had grown up in court.

Faramir merely smiled graciously and continued as if the incident were already forgotten, for which she was very grateful in her discomfort. She gladly allowed him to steer conversation to more mundane topics such as the weather, which was unusually fair.

"How do you find your new room? I hope you will be comfortable there at least, while you heal." Faramir said a while later.

"Oh yes. Thank you." Eowyn replied, thinking sullenly of the ten days she had been bid to stay in the houses. _At least I have no need to remain indoors and may freely visit theses charming gardens…._

"Would you like a tour of the gardens?" Faramir asked shortly, seeing the interest with which Eowyn took in her surroundings. She agreed enthusiastically and took his proffered arm as he led her about the paths.

The fair weather had allowed the spring flowers to blossom early and the garden was full of small, dainty buds and colour. Eowyn revelled in the clean, earthy smells and constantly asked information about flowers she did not recognise - pleased with the Steward's knowledge of living things.

"A white flower for the White Lady," Faramir smiled drawing her attention to him. He held out a small pose to her.

"Snowdrops!" Eowyn exclaimed, musing more to herself that Faramir, "I did not know they grew this far South."

"Oh yes, although not many are seen in or around Minas Tirith. They are common in the woods of Ithilien where I am Captain," Faramir replied, "I think you would like it there."

Eowyn regarded him thoughtfully as he spoke of his favourite place, amazed by the tenderness she saw in his dark eyes.

"Ithilien is exceedingly beautiful, despite the shadow hanging over our lands. Greenery surrounds you, and there is birdsong everywhere…the smell of sweet flowers carried upon the wind…ah, what I would give to return to my post there, to remain amidst the trees and rivers, away from the confines of this stone city."

Faramir sighed deeply, his eyes drawn to the ruins beyond the river once more, thinking of the land that lay beyond. After a moments pause he looked back to the princess of Rohan; she looked at him pensively, confusion flickering in the depths of her blue gaze.

"You must think me strange, indeed I have often been told I am," he laughed briefly, ironically, "yet I cannot love Minas Tirith the way I love the woods of Ithilien. I have always been at home in the wild."

"No indeed, my Lord," Eowyn said, "I should prefer to be amongst the trees or hills always…your city is lovely, but so cold."

The young Captain nodded sagely, thinking of his father. Perhaps the coldness of Minas Tirith had been too much to bear without his wife to remind him of love and warmth. Perhaps the coldness had seeped into his heart. Faramir bit his lip worriedly; _What if I too become consumed by the coldness of this city. I have not the strength of my father, and even he succumbed in the end…_

Eowyn watched the flicker of emotions cross the handsome face of Faramir. He seemed troubled.

"I hope I have not offended you my Lord." She said uncertainly. "You must be proud to be Steward of such a magnificent city."

Clearly startled from his thoughts he turned to face her, flushing slightly.

"My apologies, my mind wanders with such ease these past few days. But nay, I am not offended my Lady. I shall be honoured to be called Steward, though the title should never have been mine and I shall not long be needed. I dearly wish those whose right it was should be here to answer to it. I fear I shall do them no justice…"

Horrified by her clumsy words, and more by the glistening in Faramir's eyes, Eowyn stammered, "My Lord…forgive me. I did not wish to remind you of such pain."

He looked back at her again, noting the alarm with which she regarded him. Embarrassment coloured his cheeks once more as he turned away, gazing out to the East. Mordor glowered in the distance. Smoke drifted up from the Pelennor in lazy spirals. _Such destruction…_

"They are in a better place now. I am sorry."

"I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are evil," Eowyn said gently, a bittersweet light in her eyes as she recalled the deaths of those nearest to her own heart. After a moment grey eyes stared back at her gratefully and she felt heartened that she had done something right. Eowyn walked over to the wall upon which Faramir leaned his weight and joined him, her own eyes drawn to the smouldering piles on the fields below them, flashes of memory assaulting her.

_A shrill cry rent the air and the singing stopped. Silence was the gloating master once more. Her horse bucked and she found herself on the hard ground, looking around dazedly, Merry crawling at her side. _

"_To me!" cried Theoden, oblivious of his darkness closing in upon him..._

_Eowyn froze in terrified certainty as the shadow took form. _

The young shieldmaiden realized that she was shaking and that a warm hand was steadying her gently at the base of her elbow. Her hair was blowing about her face, clinging to the tears caressing her cheeks. Gradually she calmed, sagging slightly as weariness overwhelmed her. Strong arms steered her to a low bench and Eowyn yielded, sinking down onto the cool stone.

"Eowyn," Faramir said, forgetting propriety in the wake of her sorrow, "Would you like to go inside?"

The White Lady shook her head, pushing a wave of her golden hair over her shoulder. She looked into the eyes regarding her gently, searchingly.

"Do you truly believe that those we have lost are in a better place?" she whispered.

Compassion pinched Faramir's brows together, "Theoden was a good man. A good king. I believe that he will be honoured as much in death as he was in life. He more than earned his place in the halls of his fathers."

Eowyn nodded as yet more tears filled her eyes. The truth of Faramir's words made her heart ache.

They fell silent for some time, watching the play of sunlight through the leaves overhead, as calm restored itself.

"You have not yet told me what this tree is," Eowyn said a little while later, gazing upwards and pointing to the tree under which their bench sat.

"Ah. This is a cherry blossom. I should think it may only be a day or two till it flowers. It is a beautiful sight. I will let you wait to see it - I fear my words would do it no justice." Faramir laughed, ignoring the prompting look Eowyn implored him with.

"Then it must be beautiful indeed." She smiled.

And so it was that the Captain and the White Lady spent their first day together, and Eowyn found that she was very glad indeed that she had decided to accompany the Lord Faramir for he proved to be a most amiable companion.

Her mood improved as the day wore on for some time in the afternoon Merry appeared in the gardens also, bringing a tray laden with foods. A large grin was on his face as he made his way over to his companions.

"Hullo!" he called excitedly.

"Merry!" Eowyn cried, sweeping to her feet to greet the hobbit with a fierce hug. He precariously swayed, tray in hand until Faramir took it and held it, smiling at the joy on Eowyn's face as the small creature returned her embrace.

"Good afternoon, Master Merriadoc," Faramir said once the pair had finished greeting one another. The Halfling turned to him and dropped a bow, and Faramir laughed, "Please Merry, no such formalities are required!"

"But my Lord, you are Captain and Steward, and have done many great deeds..." Merry said uncertainly, looking to Eowyn for guidance. He still did not know how to interact around those of court, for each of them seemed to wish to be treated differently.

Faramir dropped to one knee, ignoring the flare of pain his wound caused and looked Merry in the eye with a benevolent smile.

"I am also just a man, Master Hobbit, and I do not think you of all people need bow to my deeds, for they compare poorly with your own."

Suddenly Merry grinned and gave a nod as his round cheeks flushed with praise.

"You remind me of Strider…" he said thoughtfully.

"Who is Strider?" Faramir asked, puzzled.

"The Lord Aragorn, you both have a touch of the elves about you," Merry explained.

Eowyn looked up sharply at the little halfling's words, suddenly struck by the similarities in Faramir and Aragorn's appearance also; they shared the same dark hair and high, carved cheekbones, and, as Merry had said, there was something special and elven about them both that gave each their noble and lordly bearing.

_Perhaps that is why Faramir unsettles me…_

"You are much too kind Master Merry, and I am not worthy of such praise. The King is a great man, the greatest now of our time, and I cannot compare with that my friend." Faramir answered, smiling softly down at the curly haired hobbit, who merely shrugged with a wise and knowing expression on his face.

"I thought you both might be hungry - Ioreth said you had been walking in the gardens all morning," he said, looking up at his two tall friends with bright eyes.

"That was very thoughtful of you Merry, I find I am rather hungry now that you mention it," Eowyn replied. "Shall we sit?" She asked, indicating the grass. She did not wait for their response before laying herself out, uncaring if her dress was stained by grass. The loamy smell made her fell at home and if she closed her eyes she could almost believe she was in Rohan. She sighed and opened her eyes just as Faramir dropped down beside her, Merry already setting out the food quickly. He dug into his portion of cold meat, bread and wine, with gusto. For some time the three sat together, sharing stories of their homelands and eventually Merry prevailed upon Faramir to regal them with his story, as he knew of Eowyn's and had heard snatches of Faramir's from Pippin before his departure with the Captains of the West.

"...And the rest you both know already," finished the young Steward. The others stared at him a moment in silence, each processing his story. Eventually Merry broke the silence.

"You are so like Boromir and yet so different also," he mused.

"Indeed," Faramir responded, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," Merry continued thoughtfully, "You both share the same sense of courage and loyalty but I think you have a more gentle nature...a quieter nature..."

Faramir laughed, "You are a good judge of character then my dear friend. I have always been the quiet one. Boromir was always so raucous!"

Eowyn looked at the bittersweet smile on Faramir's face and his shining eyes and for a moment forgot her own losses and was thankful that she still had her own brother. Her thoughts then drifted to Eomer and the host that travelled to Mordor. Were they closer yet? Was her brother thinking of her? Would he return?

She pulled herself back to the present as her companions rose, distractedly bidding the Hobbit farewell. She remained quiet for some time and made her way to the walls to look East. A pang resonated throughout her being as her eyes fell upon the smoking ruins below, reminded of her encounter with the Witch King. Despite the sunlight she shivered.

She suddenly became aware of a presence beside her and turned to see Faramir standing to her side, his dark features striking against the pale of the white stones on which he leaned. His grey eyes were also turned out across the Pelennor, raven hair billowing in the breeze. He looked back at her as if sensing her gaze.

"Perhaps we should go inside?" He suggested, noting the small shivers that wracked Eowyn's slender frame.

She nodded, "Yes. Suddenly I feel quite worn out."

"Then I shall accompany you to you chamber so you may take some rest," Faramir said, heartened by the grateful smile Eowyn bestowed upon him. He summoned his courage as she stepped across the threshold to her rooms and asked, "If you should feel a desire for company this evening, I should be very glad if you cared to dine with me?"

"I would like that." Eowyn said, somewhat surprised at herself though unable to deny that Faramir's company pleased her.

"Until this evening then," Faramir said.

"Until this evening," she echoed, and with that she turned away with a last small smile and left the young Captain to return to his own chambers for rest.

* * *

A huuge THANKYOU! to my reviewers. You guys brighten up my day. Any suggestions/comments welcome as always. I want to do justice to this.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

Chapter Eight: A Captain's Despair

Rest did not find Faramir for he could not put his mind at ease. Thoughts swirled ceaselessly in his head as he sat on his bed quietly. Again before him flashed the images of the soldiers he had led to death. Sightless, accusing eyes stared at him, full of hatred and confusion.

_It should have been you!_

He blinked the image away.

An ache resonated deep within Faramir as he thought of the bitter parting with his father, but he could not succumb to his grief. It felt too unreal still, and so the ache grew and caught about his throat, slowly strangling him like strong, desperate fingers.

His breathing became irregular and he stood suddenly, head spinning, and made his way to his window and threw it wide, filling the room with a cool breeze. He gasped it in, heart thundering in his breast, swayed against the sill for support. He felt hot and cold at once and his brows knitted in confusion for his fever had passed.

_What ails me? _

Faramir took another deep breath and calmed himself before he began pacing the length of his room in agitation, unheeding of the throb of his leg at each step.

_You wish now our places had been exchanged...Yes, I wish that...It should have been you!_

The young Steward pressed a shaking hand against his closed eyelids as a bitter tear ran hot over his cheek, a distant pained voice reaching his ears, echoing the agony of his soul. He sighed, making his way from his room, seeking the now familiar comfort of the gardens. On his way he heard shouts and cries once more and turned his steps in search of the source of distress, his heart breaking at the mournful sound. After a moment he came upon a large room filled with soldiers, both of Gondor and of Rohan. Men of all ages lined the walls, thrashing around on cots, or lying eerily motionless. Faramir shivered with foreboding; death was in the air.

The mournful keening that he had heard began again and with dismay Faramir's grey eyes fell on a fellow ranger from Ithilien. He squatted by the cot and laid his hand upon the sweat-drenched brow.

"Ssh, Borgond, take some water my friend…" Faramir whispered, presenting a beaker before the elder man's face.

He gave a weak smile in response, then coughed, blood pooling over his paling lips, staining them in a mockery of life as he shook his head slowly.

"Captain," he rasped urgently, "Tell my wife that I love her..."

Faramir forced back the tears that begged for release as he looked upon his friend's face, a small nod all he could muster.

"You have my word," he uttered softly, after a short pause.

Borgond grimaced, shuddering in pain, his eyes conveying the thanks that he was unable to voice.

Faramir's face twisted in sorrow as he reached out and took the tremulous hand before him, feeling with horror the deep, encompassing chill that was settling over Borgond's prone form. And so he sat for some time, only moving to close the sightless eyes before him.

"Be at peace, son of Gondor" he whispered, chocked, a lone tear twinkling in his eyes.

The image of his dead brother suddenly sprang, unbidden, into his mind. Faramir passed a hand before his eyes to dispel it. Boromir should have been spared, his loss was too great, he was needed by too many... The young Captain saw again the funeral boat, an ethereal light clinging to it, shrouding his brother in a mysterious mist…he heard the echoes of a great horn calling for aid, strong, vibrant, like its wielder… but then the sound changed and became hollow. Dead. His heart felt as shattered as the sundered instrument that had washed upon the banks of the Anduin.

_I could not help you, brother...gladly would I have gone in your stead to Imladris. _

Lost in his thoughts, Faramir sat with bowed head before his fallen comrade, unaware of the room's hush as the men of Rohan watched him, their fiery eyes dulled by pain but still filled with compassion and understanding. Gradually thought their muted voices caught his attention.

"It is their new Steward...Faramir they call him...he is the one the White Wizard was called from his battle with the Witch King to save...it is a sad thing that both Gondor and Rohan lost their rulers in one black day..."

Sick with realisation Faramir stood abruptly, his vision blurring at the edges. He cared not. He stumbled towards the door sightlessly, catching on the frame for support as his weakness passed. His feet took him quickly to the gardens where a cooling breeze washed over him, flinging his hair into his pale face, making it cling to the dew upon his brow.

"My Lord?" came a concerned voice.

But Faramir did not hear the words, or the soft footfalls that padded closer. He sank down onto the stone bench before him, trembling. A tiny hand touched his shoulder and he looked up with wild eyes.

"Merry!" he breathed.

"My Lord, are you unwell?" the Halfling asked, frowning in worry at the Stewards discomposure.

"Am I unwell?" Faramir repeated dazedly, "I…nay friend, do not fret over me." A skeptical raise of a brow was his response and his curly headed companion drew closer, hand finding its way onto his brow. The tall Captain bowed his head, the weight of his grief crushing, the truth haunting; he shook his head wearily, whispers falling from his lips.

"…So much death…it should have been me…"

Merry's eyes widened at the murmured words, shock and worry plain in their mossy depths. His hand dropped. "Faramir…what do you mean? Faramir?" he said uncertainly.

"It is truth," replied the despairing ranger, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he looked up once more. He frowned, squeezing shut his lids for a long moment, sensing the hobbit's fear and confusion; he graced his friend with a desolate smile as a tear slid free, a bitter huff escaping with it as he dropped his head again. "It is the truth," he repeated sadly, "So many great men have died and I should have gone in their stead. It should have been me…"

Silence met his words as Merry gazed at him in dismay.

"How can you say such things? You are a great man!" Merry empathically proclaimed.

"Would you still think me great if you knew that my life was spared at the cost of a King's?"

Merry stilled at the whispered words but Faramir said no more. He gazed blankly towards the East where the reeking smoke belched towards the sky and the sun shone through it in a dim red haze of blood.

"So much death…" he repeated, almost listlessly.

"Faramir? Why would you say that? Faramir? My Lord…?" Merry asked, his urgency increasing with the young Captain's silence.

"It matters not," he eventually answered, rising stiffly. He looked down at his short companion, a sorrow beyond his years veiled behind his eyes, a smile playing reluctantly about his full lips.

"Forgive me Merry, I fear perhaps I am a little unwell and should return to my chamber," Faramir said, bowing to his friend and departing slowly, cradling his wounded shoulder.

Merry watched him go wordlessly and it seemed to him that a new shadow had fallen over Faramir's heart and that his gentle spirit ailed.

* * *

Another troubled face watched the dejected Captain return to his room. Eowyn of Rohan stood by the window of her new chamber, frowning at Faramir's passing form. He had not seemed melancholy that morning though his demeanor now spoke of great pain and regret, mourning. Eowyn's brows creased. Moisture glittered upon his cheeks. She made her way to her door, pulling it open as he passed, head bowed.

"My Lord?" she called tentatively.

Faramir turned round, startled, giving a bow as he hastily made to clear away evidence of his sorrow. "My Lady," he murmured, deep voice husky with stifled emotion.

Eowyn stared at him mutely, suddenly at a loss. A blush rose to colour her cheeks as the moment lengthened. _How can I possibly comfort him? I am a shieldmaiden and I have not his gentleness. _

"Was there something I can do for you?" Faramir said then, breaking the stillness. Eowyn cringed guiltily; she had hoped to help her new-found friend and already he put aside his obvious woes in favour of seeking to comfort her. She looked away uncomfortably.

"Nay, Lord, I merely wished to – to thank you. You have been very kind to me. I hope you have had a restful afternoon,"

The dark haired Captain smiled then, a little shyly, conscious of his fatigued posture. "I confess that it has not been so. I hope that you have had more success than myself."

Eowyn had also attempted to rest during the afternoon, but had found her mind much occupied. She had spent the afternoon at the window, gazing pensively at the world below as she had replayed the morning's events and imagined the journey of the host travelling to the Black Gate, fear for her brother gnawing at the small measure of peace the morning in Faramir's company had brought her.

She did not divulge her worries, instead politely inclined her head. A look of concern flashed over her beautiful features as Faramir swayed slightly, his face paling.

"You are weary, forgive my intrusion." Eowyn said hastily, ready to back away beyond her door.

"It is a pleasure to look upon you and to speak with you; no forgiveness is needed. I fear it is I who must ask for forgiveness…" he trailed off quietly, his face blanching yet further as the unbidden thought escaped him.

"My Lord?" Eowyn said questioningly, her features painted with confusion that rapidly morphed into alarm as he swooned faintly into the wall, barely catching himself before he hit the unyielding stone with a thump that caused him to hiss and grope at his shoulder.

"You need a healer!" Eowyn said empathically, holding a hand against his arm ineffectually for she lacked the strength and maneuverability to steady him whilst her own arms were bandaged.

"I am alright now…" he asserted, straightening up but avoiding her gaze.

"Let me help you," she insisted stubbornly, smiling internally at the small sigh and grateful smile which then appeared on the still-too-pale face before her. She walked him slowly down the hallway to his own room, alert to any sign of frailty in the strong body next to her own, only content of his safety when she had him ensconced in a chair.

"Thank you," the young Steward said, still frowning a little and holding his shoulder.

"You are sure you do not need a healer?" Eowyn asked, eyes drawn to the peeping bandage. "You are bleeding," She stated anxiously.

Just at that a knock sounded at the door and Ioreth entered a moment later. Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she spotted the Lady of Rohan hovering over the handsome Captain.

"My Lord, the _perian_ said you were unwell…" she said, giving a bow and a curtsey to the two nobles. Shrewd eyes followed the young maiden's concerned gaze, and she tutted.

"Lord Faramir, you must take care of yourself!"

Faramir gave an apologetic nod in response, acquiescing to the healer's ministrations as she divested him of his shirt and bandage promptly to inspect the wound. Eowyn stood aside quietly, watching the older woman work, somewhat embarrassed by her own interest in Faramir's physique. Her rose-tinted cheeks betrayed her and Ioreth laughed, her eyes twinkling as she bathed the wound. Faramir merely looked up in confusion, gaze flitting between the two women in bewilderment.

"You have pulled your stitches," Ioreth said sternly, wagging a finger in admonishment. "My Lady, could you perhaps hold this for me a moment? Thank you."

Eowyn took the equipment thrust at her and waited as Ioreth prepared herself, bustling in and out of the room procuring various salves and herbs, grinding them and stewing them in hot water. It was a fascinating process of which she knew little.

She watched as the young man shook his head as the elderly lady handed him a steaming beaker filled with herbs to ease his pain.

"There are those who need it more than I," he said, holding up a hand in refusal. And so he grit his teeth as his stitches were removed and then re-sewn, sweat beading on his brow and chest as the needle tore through his skin. It was a sensation he had become well accustomed to as a soldier of Gondor. His eyes met Eowyn's and he was touched to see the concern they held; the young Captain gave an encouraging smile.

Eowyn anxiously watched every minute twinge of pain or discomfort cross the Steward's handsome face, admiring his stoicism as she recalled having witnessed several soldiers crying and screaming, even fainting, during the same procedure. When Ioreth had finished she gave a wink as she passed the young shieldmaiden who tried to feign ignorance. She glared at her icily, even as her face flamed once more. Hastily she dipped it, retreating behind the veil of her hair, busying herself pouring a glass of water which she then delivered to Faramir as he awkwardly re-dressed. He took it graciously, hand still somewhat unsteady.

"You did not need to stay with me, thank you Eowyn,"

The White Lady smiled, noting his use of her name and the tiny thrill that it sent through her. "I feared to do otherwise would prove me an inept companion." She said shyly.

"You are a beautiful, courageous, intelligent woman…you could never be an inept companion." Faramir replied, and his sincerity, his surety, caused her to drop her gaze. "Forgive me," he said hastily, aware of her embarrassment.

Eowyn forced her gaze upwards once more to meet the grey eyes staring into her own. The Steward looked worn out. "I should let you rest," she said, making to leave.

"Stay! Please stay," Faramir implored urgently, and Eowyn could not deny him, was not sure she even wanted to leave, "We have not yet had dinner," he smiled wanly.

Eowyn laughed, suddenly at ease, "Indeed not, I shall fetch us some supper."

And with that she left, coming back as promised a short while later with a laden tray of goods to find Faramir seated at his desk awaiting her arrival.

Their night continued the way it had been initially intended; they talked and laughed and told each other stories. And all the while they began to feel a special bond of friendship blossoming as if the sun had come to shine on a once barren, lonely tree.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to those of you who continue to read this! I'm getting very busy now as I have lots of exams at uni coming up, as well as fieldtrips, so updates may be less regular for a while-sorry. Will try to keep on top of as much as I can.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**Chapter Nine: A Shieldmaiden's Fear**

Faramir, Captain of Gondor, awoke the next morning, after a short though somewhat restful sleep; it seemed the herbs the healers had insisted he drink before bed had done their job. Yawning and stretching he pushed back his coverlets and swung his legs out of bed, grimacing a little as he felt stiffness in his newly stitched shoulder.

Warmly he remembered the previous evening. The way Eowyn had smiled and laughed. Her happiness had somewhat lifted the blackness that had descended over his heart, though he could not be rid of it. Even in the golden morning light he felt it shadowing him. Accusing him. _It should have been you! This day should not be yours to enjoy. _

He sighed, looking out his window at the new day trying to dispel the morbid mood shadowing him from the previous afternoon, focusing instead on the pleasure he had gained from the White Lady's company.

Glancing about below him his eyes lit up upon the object of his fond thoughts.

As if sensing his gaze she turned suddenly to look directly at his window, starting as she realized he watched her. Delighted, Faramir held up a hand in salutation, a smile lighting his handsome face.

Timidly she smiled back and dropped her gaze, ashamed to have him know that she had been waiting for him with little patience. She had not found much rest and was eager to be calmed by Faramir's soothing presence. When she looked back up at the window his strong figure was gone; she could not help but feel excited, hopeful that he would come to her now as she wished.

Shortly after, the dark haired, gentle Captain did come to her, dressed in a green tunic and breeches with a darker cloak pinned about his neck with a beautiful brooch bearing the insignia of his Rangers. Eowyn watched this strange man with wonder: he was so unlike any of the men she knew; yes, he was strong and powerful, but he was also thoughtful, quiet, compassionate.

"I hope you are well this morning?" Eowyn asked questioningly as he neared her.

"I find that I am quite well indeed, for the sun shines and the beautiful White Lady walks by my side," he smiled, a soft, gentleness in his eyes as he looked upon her intensely. Realising he had made Eowyn blush he looked away to reign in his emotions, wondering at himself. He had never felt so intensely for a woman before, never really felt anything, but this White Lady of Rohan had stirred something deep within him, had touched him as no-one ever had before. Faramir could not conceal his growing affections.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath as they came to look out over the Pelennor, each somehow knowing they would stop at the walls as they passed.

"Did you find rest then my Lord?" Eowyn asked, smiling as she turned to face him.

She had asked to disperse the serious mood which had descended upon them from his comment. Eowyn found that she could not face the grave tenderness in his gaze, nor the fluttering in her stomach as he bade her such compliments. Yet she was glad of them in some way, though confused at the turmoil his comments unleashed within her. Why did they mean so much to her? Perhaps it was because Aragorn's refusal of her had made her feel unworthy of any real attentions, and because any she had had previously had been from Grima, and were most unwelcome. She shuddered with memory, pushing it back into the recesses of her mind.

"I found some yes. And you, my Lady?" he asked gallantly.

Abruptly Eowyn's smile faded as she was reminded of her dreams.

"I see that it was not so." Faramir said astutely.

"Alas that it was not," Eowyn sighed softly. "I cannot seem to find peace or rest." She lamented, rubbing absently at her bound arm. It was chill to the touch even now.

A shiver crept up her spine as she recalled the face of the Witch King, leering over her uncle's body.

"I can still see his face..." she whispered, blue eyes filled with fear.

Faramir waited, unsure as to who Eowyn was referring.

"I did not dream that war would be as it was," she admitted, her voice tinged with the sadness of misguided youth, "I did not expect the pain and horror and- I, I thought I would find glory and that I would finally be satisfied, that I could defend those I loved. But I could not. He took it away...and I can still see his dreadful face."

Eowyn looked up at Faramir with wide eyes, eyes full of pain and hope.

"The horror will fade." Faramir assured her, full of sympathetic understanding.

"I am afraid I will never be rid of it..." she continued quietly. A shiver again stole through her. _Even his cold has not yet left me...am I destined to never feel warmth?_

But Faramir had caught notice of her tremor and loosed his brooch to swing his heavy cloak about her shoulders. As he was refastening the clip about her throat her hand floated up to touch it and met his. He was as startled by the intense chill pervading her palm as she was by his touch, and she drew her hand away immediately, her eyes dropped. Faramir took up her hand again.

"You killed him Eowyn, he is gone and cannot hurt you or those you love again. You will be rid of the horror, eventually, you will be rid of his touch." Faramir said emphatically giving her hands a squeeze as if to prove that he would banish the Witch King's chill.

Eowyn gave a tiny smile and looked down at Faramir's hands, wrapped around her own. They were so warm. _Perhaps I need not always be cold then..._she thought as she snuggled deeper into his large woolen cloak, letting the heat it contained from his body envelop her. She closed her eyes and gave a sigh.

Faramir looked up at the sound, a thrill running through him as he took in the peace upon Eowyn's beautiful face. Suddenly her eyes opened and looked down at his hands. He was still tightly holding her own in his long-fingered grasp but had stopped caressing them. He did not want to let go and was heartened that Eowyn did not pull her hands away. She merely met his stare with a fathomless expression.

They gazed at one another for a few moments until a colour rose in Eowyn's pale cheeks, and she turned away so that he could not see her discomposure. _I hate this woman's weakness that he provokes...why should it be so?_

Eowyn of Rohan breathed in the wind and let it whip her golden hair about her face as her eyes closed. She imagined she was in Edoras and was comforted by the familiarity of the place she had so long wanted to escape from, of the place she called both prison and home. The wind seemed to carry away her troubles and fears and doubts. Faramir was forgotten for a moment.

Until he came up beside her, hand reached out to touch her face.

"Eowyn, the memory will fade, believe me. You will be whole again, I will help you. You are not alone. I am your friend..." said the young Captain, tenderly caressing her cheek as he turned her face back to his.

Eowyn's eyes sprang open and Faramir was shocked to see fear in her glassy orbed gaze. Without warning her hand came up and slapped hard across his face, causing him to stumble back into the walls. Bewildered, stricken, he watched her in dismay.

"You're words are poison!" She shrieked angrily, her eyes flashing steel in their fury. How dare he touch her?!

Faramir could not respond. He blinked in confusion, brows furrowed in anguish, hand upon his face to sooth the sting of her palm.

But nothing could sooth the sting of her words.

Suddenly her anger faded and Eowyn looked at his handsome face with a sickening clarity, her own features rapidly paling to a snowy white. _Faramir! Not Wormtongue! Oh, what have I done?! _

The Lady of Rohan turned on her heel and fled, unable to look upon Faramir's shocked face, leaving the young Steward alone in the gardens.

* * *

Eowyn swept along the corridors, her rapid footsteps echoing in time with her furious heartbeat, pale blue gown billowing out in her wake. Tears meandered in unnoticed rivulets over her face. She made it to the safety of her chambers and collapsed against the door, legs falling out from beneath her as she allowed herself to sink to the cold stone floor, trembling.

"Oh Faramir!" she sobbed, burying her face in her hands as remorse and guilt fought to reign over all her emotions. Eowyn closed her eyes firmly, blocking out the condemning image of his face...the red mark over his jaw...but a more hated image sprang up to haunt her instead.

"NO!" she cried out, springing to her feet in agitation. Wormtongue could not find her here, she was safe. He could not hurt her or touch her again.

Eowyn found herself at her window and she looked out with trepidation. The gardens below her were still occupied by Faramir who paced up and down along the walls in a manner not dissimilar from her own. The view did little to calm her, instead a surge of disgust welled up within her and engulfed her. She had struck him...the Steward! Her friend! And for what?

_Eowyn, the memory will fade, believe me. You will be whole again, I will help you. You are not alone. I am your friend..._

For caring about her.

Even now, after so long away from his influence, Grima's words and actions still haunted her, left her mired in mistrust. But Faramir was nothing like Grima, he spoke the truth. The genuine honesty in his eyes had struck Eowyn's heart like a blow when they had first met, and continued to do so every day. There was no malice or deceit in his gaze, nor indeed in his temperament, of that she was sure.

_How do I make this right? Can I? Will he forgive me? Will he understand?... I thought I was in Edoras, that you were someone else...someone I left behind a long time ago...I was afraid...I sound mad!_

Eowyn watched as Faramir ran a hand through raven hair. He now limped, holding at his shoulder occasionally, thinking that he had no-one to hide his weakness from. Her chest constricted with sympathy, compassion washing over her face.

"I am sorry,"she whispered, wishing that he would turn around and she could see his face, and at the same time fearing that he would. Eowyn's hands tugged at the cloak still draped about her; pulling it close she breathed in Faramir's scent, somehow finding comfort in the fabric because it was his. She dragged herself from the window and lay out upon her bed as tears came anew. She did not fight them, she let them come. She deserved to cry for the pain she had wrought and was too much a coward to face.

After an interminable time a knock came at her door. She sat up suddenly, gaze locked on the door in fear. Somehow she knew who it was before he spoke.

"Eowyn..?" Faramir's deep voice was soft and gentle, hesitant.

Eowyn froze. Her heart clenched. _What do I do..?_

"Eowyn? Please, may I speak with you?"

Her pulse quickened as she rose from the bed, standing in indecision. Finding herself at the door, her hand poised above the knob, she let out a sob.

Faramir heard the quiet noise and waited. But it seemed she had nothing to say to him, or did not want to speak with him. "Perhaps then, my Lady, you will at least listen to me..."

Eowyn laid her head against the door in anguish.

"I have no wish to hurt or offend you. Perhaps you think me forward...if that is so and I have disturbed you or frightened you I am sorry. Eowyn...oh Eowyn, can you forgive me?"

Impulsively she wrenched open her door, finding the young Captain standing before her, grey eyes filled with uncertainty and sorrow, biting at his lip in worry.

Within moments she stood before him, her hand ghosting over the mark she had left on his face with tears in her eyes.

"It is I who need to ask for forgiveness!" she whispered, shaking her head morosely.

Faramir did not move, unsure if he should console her or if his touch would so repulse her again.

"I did not mean to- I thought I was in Edoras and that you were _him..." _Eowyn said, trembling and looking away, removing her hand from his face. After a moment she looked back up and continued feelingly, _"_and then my mind cleared and it was _you _and I did not know what to do!"

The young Captain of Gondor bowed his head and murmured, "I- "

"Say that you can forgive me?" she begged, stepping tentatively closer to him, needing, _wanting_ the contact he had given her before she had forced it away.

He nodded slowly, "Oh Eowyn, I am so sorry I frightened you. I should not have been so bold..." Regret tugged at his features and turned them sad.

But Eowyn shook her golden head, "Do not be sorry. You were not. It was not you." She said, sobbing softly, trailing off in obvious distress. "It was but a foul memory…"

Unable to stay himself any longer Faramir stepped closer to her, taking up her chilled hand, his face awash with empathy mingled with anger as his mind slotted together the pieces of the story Eowyn had told him, before she even finished.

She sank against him, hands resting on his chest as she hugged him, aching for his arms to close about her, to banish the dread weighing heavily upon her. She heard his heartbeat thundering beneath her ear, felt him quiver as he put his arms about her and was warmed by the sigh that escaped him moments later as she sank into his embrace further, mumbling into his chest.

"His name was Grima…he was my Uncle's councilor…he still haunts me though I am safe here from his taunts and leering eyes. The touch of his hands." Eowyn shuddered with memory, stifling another sniff.

After a moment's hesitation the young Steward of Gondor drew back to look Eowyn in the eyes, his own gaze stormy and troubled by her pain. His hand gently traced the path of her tears, drying them as yet more fell to replace them. Eowyn was moved by his tenderness. She leant into his touch, closed her eyes and was calmed.

Faramir drew her against him once more, soothing her, stroking the long golden tresses that fell in waves over her back. The silken strands smelt faintly of roses.

"I am sorry," Faramir whispered, anguished, "If I had known my touch were to remind you of-"

"No!" Eowyn pulled back suddenly in shock, saying somewhat vehemently, "You could never remind me of him…never! You are too good and kind; do not say such things!"

Faramir gave a small smile and caressed her cheek, his eyes strangely bright.

"I could never be too good to you…could never be good _enough_." He said, and Eowyn's brows furrowed at the somewhat melancholy undertone. He smiled at her expression, allowing his had to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

The Captain became aware of footsteps echoing dimly, his keen ranger's ears picking up on the sounds before Eowyn. He heeded them not and for once, Eowyn cared not what the Gondorian's would say to see her standing thus with their Steward, she marveled only over how safe she felt with Faramir's eyes resting on her, a gentle strength exuding from him that instilled itself within her.

"Begging you pardon Lord, but mistress Ioreth is looking for you. 'Tis time to check your wounds." Briel said, blushing awkwardly for interrupting what appeared to be a tender moment between the handsome Captain and the beautiful Lady of Rohan.

Faramir glanced back at Eowyn apologetically, "Will you be alright? I do not have to go now if you wish for company?"

"Nay, Ioreth would have my head!" Eowyn said, with a faint laugh that he then echoed.

Eowyn then watched as Faramir walked away, his walk soundless and graceful. She was struck once again by how attractive he was and blushed as she caught the slightly wistful turn to her thoughts. She would not harbor any false hope again, her heart would not recover from such a blow, so she steeled it against his charm and warmth and compassionate understanding as a tiny voice inside her screamed at her to let him in.

Mired in confusion she turned back to her chamber, disgruntled. She wrapped the cloak about her protectively and with a jolt realized she still wore Faramir's. She was loath to return it but it was not longer chill outside and she longed to prove to herself that her feelings for him were not changing.

She sighed and folded the cloak in her arms and made her way to Faramir's chambers.

* * *

tbc...


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

Chapter Ten: Sleepless Nights

Eowyn was restless, longing for free air to blow through her hair, across her skin. Sleep would not come as she could not shut off her mind; Faramir was in her thoughts, she dwelled on his words to her, the softness of his eyes…_could it be..? No! Stay this foolishness Eowyn, _She said to herself. And with that she donned her thin robe and made her to the gardens once again.

When she was nearly there she heard a voice singing and her footsteps halted for a moment in wonder. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She crept closer timidly. It was Faramir who stood upon the walls with that deep voice ringing out warm and true and ethereal. She did not know what he sang, for it was in elvish, and Eowyn thought he looked like a mighty king of old; strong yet burdened with sorrow. She watched him pace slowly up and down beside the walls, the silver light of stars lining his leanly muscled outline. A sigh escaped her.

After a time his singing stopped.

"That was beautiful," Eowyn said, stepping out of the shadows to meet him. He turned about, startled, clearly embarrassed, though a smile graced his handsome face when his eyes lit upon her. He thought she looked wonderful in her flowing robe of creamy silk; a vision of loveliness, perfection. A yearning ache pounded within him.

Eowyn seemed not to notice.

"What were you singing?" she asked curiously.

"The Lay of Luthien," he answered, averting his eyes from her beauty, to gaze instead upon the stars, finding that they little compared to her, "Do you know the story?"

"Yes, Luthien, most beautiful of the elves gives up her immortality to be with the man Beren…it is lovely." She admitted, and a touch of sadness crept over her features as she was reminded of Aragorn and his lady.

Faramir said nothing for a moment as Eowyn became more pensive, unsure of her mood, but he found he was unable to hold his silence. "Why so sad, my Lady?" he asked softly.

"I am merely thinking Lord Faramir," replied the blonde haired Rohirrim, averting her gaze. She elaborated, "The story reminds me of the Lord Aragorn and his elven queen Arwen…they say she too is as beautiful as Luthien."

The young Gondorian stilled as he saw the sadness in Eowyn's blue eyes, and the final piece of the riddle of her unhappiness fell into place. She yearned for the love of the king, and was denied.

_Then I shall never make her happy…I cannot compare to the king…_

Eowyn looked up when Faramir did not reply, and she noticed his grey eyes were shining, sorrowful. She did not understand. Then, suddenly, she realized he knew about her desire for Aragorn. Shame burned her cheeks and she said cooly, turning away, "I do not want your pity."

"I do not offer you my pity Eowyn," Faramir said gently. His gaze was locked on her slender figure with longing. _I would offer you my love if you would have it…_

He knew not what comfort to offer the White Lady and so simply laid a hand over her shoulder, surprised when she reached round to hold it back. He waited silently, but he knew not why.

After a short time however she spoke again.

"You must think me foolish…"

"It is not foolish to love, Eowyn," Faramir said, reaching out to move the veil of golden locks over her shoulder. A tiny, breathless sigh escaped him causing shivers to run up Eowyn's spine. She turned around swiftly, searching his face.

"But a fool I am," she returned, almost defiant, "How could I have hoped for love?"

She did not expect an answer to her question, was merely thinking aloud, but Faramir's deep, musical voice startled her a moment later, an unreadable expression of tenderness mingled with pain painted over his features.

"You need not hope for love Eowyn, for there are those who love you."

"_It is but a shadow and a thought that you love…" _she whispered, eyes distant with memory, "I think perhaps he knew me better than I knew myself._"_

Eowyn smiled inwardly at the confusion she now saw plainly on Faramir's face, and reached up a hand to smooth away his frown.

"Do not worry yourself my friend, I think I begin to understand at least…"

…_I fell in love with the idea of the freedom his love would have brought me. But I need it not, I have made my own freedom, _She thought passionately, hoping she was not fooling herself.

"I need not the love of any man," she continued proudly and sternly a moment later, eyes sparking as if daring Faramir to defy her.

"There are those that would love you endlessly, if you would but let them," Faramir whispered, taking her cold hands. Her hardened expression wavered and her mouth fell open as she looked into his eyes, and they seemed to say to her _I would love you endlessly, if you would but let me_.

The dark haired Captain knew by the shock on her lovely face, that he had said too much, that she was beginning to suspect his love for her. A sadness stole over him and he dropped his gaze from the gently parted lips he longed to kiss.

"Forgive me if I have spoken too freely," he said hesitantly, letting go her hands. He leaned upon the walls with a deep breath, the cool stone beneath his palms as white as Eowyn's smooth skin. He closed his eyes against the thought and ran a hand through his raven locks as if trying to dispel it.

In astonishment the shieldmaiden of the north watched the tall Captain of the south. Her heart sang under her breast and she tried vainly not to listen to the whispers it spoke of. _It cannot be…_

"I did not know you could speak elvish…" Eowyn said, attempting to break their silence.

Faramir turned to her with a tiny smile, his dark grey eyes twinkling as if the stars above, and her heart fluttered.

"I am descended from Numenor on my mother's side, it is from her that I acquired love of the elves and for the gentle arts in life; music, art…" He said, and now a tiny rueful chuckle as he continued, "…my father was never too pleased that I did not take to the sword or the bow with similar enthusiasm, but I have never found joy in slaying or destruction. I have not the strength for it."

Eowyn looked at him thoughtfully and Faramir gazed back questioningly.

"You are so different to the other warriors I know…" she said.

Faramir dropped his head, expelling a breath of air, "You are not the first person to tell me that," he said darkly, recalling the judgment his father had made of his person. _Weak… Cowardly… So different from your brother…_

"I find it refreshing; you have a different sort of strength, and yet when called upon you still have the skill to defend your lands and peoples."

Eowyn earnestly gazed at the tall ranger before her, her respect and admiration for him growing with each moment she spent in his company. She smiled warmly as colour suffused his cheeks, glad she had told him his true worth.

"Thank you," he replied quietly, "It was never easy living in Boromir's shadow…the expectations…"

Eowyn nodded her understanding, she knew only too well the difficulties of trying and failing to live up to expectations.

"I sometimes wish…"

Faramir trailed off with a shake of his head, staring thoughtfully out at the stars as a gentle breeze stirred his hair about his shoulders. Eowyn drew closer to him, forcing his eyes back upon her.

"Tell me what you would wish Faramir," she asked, eyes filled.

"I would wish to be free…free from duty, and pain, this Darkness," he whispered.

Eowyn blinked at him, a tear let loose, surprised by his admission yet not knowing why, for she felt the same herself.

"Do you think we will ever be free?" Eowyn wondered quietly.

"I do not know what to think," he answered slowly, truthfully, "And yet, you and I have been given a second chance at living… I must believe in hope. If anyone can rid this world of Darkness, I would believe it of Frodo."

The White Lady felt more tears pricking at her eyes and travelling down her cheeks at Faramir's words. His eyes shone with passion and belief and for a moment she was caught up with him in the bittersweet.

"Why do you weep?" he asked feelingly, a benevolent smile playing about his full lips as he dried up her tears.

She sniffled, looking out at the Pelennor Field in desolation, "How can you still hold on to hope? There is so much evil…"

The young lord followed her gaze and turned back to her slowly, his hands reaching up to caress either side of her face, "There is also good Eowyn. There is beauty and wonder and light. Sauron's reach has grown indeed, but he has not yet conquered! Not while there are those of us left who will fight!"

Eowyn gazed at the young Steward in something like awe, nodding her golden head and giving a watery yet determined smile in answer. A small light of hope was kindled in her heart.

"Fighting would be so much easier than this waiting! But at least I do not wait alone," She said.

Faramir smiled at that and dropped his hands to Eowyn's shoulders. She trembled.

"Perhaps we should sit by the fire inside?" Faramir suggested, suddenly aware of how cold Eowyn must be. She agreed readily and allowed him to steer her indoors.

They came to a small chamber where logs blazed and crackled merrily behind an iron grate. A rug was laid out before the fire and Eowyn settled down before it, feeling warmth return to her chilled flesh as Faramir closed the door behind them, barring the cool breeze. She felt rather than heard his return and was not surprised by the addition of a warm cloak draped carefully about her shoulders. She breathed deeply and burrowed into his cloak with a smile as he knelt beside her, stirring up the embers before them, humming softly to himself. A smile crept over Eowyn's face as she watched him.

"Do not stop," she beseeched a while later when he ceased humming and settled back on his haunches. "You have a wonderful voice…"

"I am no minstrel," Faramir laughed, though he continued obligingly, only falling quiet when Eowyn's eyes drooped shut and her breathing evened out, the melodious lilting sending her into a slumber. He pulled his cloak higher over her slender shoulder with a gentle suppressed sigh, his eyes fastened upon her peaceful face as he brushed a tendril of hair from her unblemished cheek. Unconsciously she leaned into his palm, mumbling.

"Be at peace," the young Captain whispered, "You are safe here. No evil will befall you whilst I am near."

He smiled as she settled, soothed by his words.

Faramir stifled a shiver and stoked the fire further, content to remain by its warmth and to watch over Eowyn's slumbering form. Thus he sat for some time, gradually becoming lulled by the heat emanating from before him, wrapping him in its inviting embrace, the dancing flames entrancing and hypnotizing him. Dark eyes slid shut as weariness made itself known once more and Faramir fell victim to its insistence.

* * *

The Lady of Rohan gave a languid stretch as the last vestiges of sleep were banished from her mind, Faramir's thick green cloak falling from her body as she sat up. She grabbed it closer against the chill in the air, somewhat surprised at how rested she felt. A smile played over her lips as her eyes lit upon the handsome Captain's prostrate form lying at her feet, though it faded as he let out a whimpering moan and thrashed against whatever specters haunted his dreams.

Empathy washed over the face of Eowyn. She crept closer, noting the sheen of sweat clinging to his paled face.

"Awake," she said softly, hand touching his shoulder. He trembled. "Faramir!" she called more urgently as he groaned again. Suddenly he sat up, his fine eyes wide with panic, dismay, fear. Pain shadowed their depths. He clutched at his leg with unsteady hands, his shallow breaths slowly evening out.

"Be calm, it was but a dream," Eowyn soothed, her hand finding its way back onto his strong shoulder in an attempt to still its shaking whilst imparting a measure of comfort.

"Yes, it was but a dream," Faramir returned in a husky whisper, his eyes locked onto the burning embers before him in consternation and lingering horror, questioning the truth of his own words as fragments of memory assaulted him.

_He is already burning, already burning…bring wood and oil! Why do the fools flee…burn we must…bring wood and oil!_

The young Captain's mind cleared as he felt a cool hand upon his cheeks, a waft of roses calming him.

"Eowyn," he mumbled, shutting his eyes against the sight of the fire.

"I am here…" she returned gently, brushing away tears that he did not know he had shed. "I am here," she repeated, a mantra of comfort falling from her lips as her hands fell to the broad shoulders before her.

"Thank you," Faramir's deep voice sounded a time later, as he looked up to face her. A picture of empathy gazed back at him and the young ranger of Ithilien smiled a little bashfully, though his eyes remained troubled and deep in thought.

Eowyn bit her lip in worry, knowing not how to help him. Still he trembled. She moved to the fire, prodding it to life.

Alarmed, Faramir caught up her hand, crying out.

"No!"

The White Lady looked upon him in shock, gaze falling to the tight grip he held her in. He hastily dropped her hand seeing the imprint he had left on her lily white skin.

"Forgive me," he said, filled with disgust at himself, "I did not mean to hurt you, though it seems foretold that I must."

"Faramir!" Eowyn exclaimed rising to her feet in mirror of her dark haired companion. "Why do you say such things?"

He took a step back from her in obvious distress, shaking his head. She stilled, face falling sadly.

"Why do you recoil?"

"If you but knew the truth…" he said, his voice laced with pain. _You should not be here…you should have perished…_

Eowyn blinked, "About what?"

Faramir turned away, leaning heavily on the marbled fireplace, gazing into the flames sightlessly, tantalizing echoes whispering of a secret truth, shrouding him in loathing. "It should have been I that perished…Mirthrandir made a mistake in saving me over your king…even my own father willed it…"

The blond Rohirrim's pace paled at his words, denial rising to her silent lips. _It cannot be._

Silence lengthened between them.

Eowyn sank to the floor in shock, her eyes locked onto Faramir's back. Tension was evident in his posture, grief in the melancholic sigh that rattled through him. Yet she could not speak, her lips and throat refused to move, frozen in disbelief.

"There has not been a day gone past in which I have not wondered why it is that I have been spared at the cost of those more great than I…" Faramir whispered his confession, hands fisting through his raven hair. "I am sorry that it was not so."

With that he turned about and Eowyn saw devastation bright in his eyes as he strode beyond her to the door. She remained mute until his hand fell upon the handle when her voice suddenly broke free.

"I am not sorry," she stated softly. Faramir stilled and she repeated her words. He turned to face her then and his expression was one she could not fathom for the mix of emotions it held staggered her. Before she even realized she had moved she found herself standing before him, gazing into sea-grey eyes stormy with unshed tears, her hand tentatively reaching out to cup his cheek.

"Why should you have died in another's stead?" Eowyn said in disbelief.

"You would not wish our places had been exchanged?" Faramir returned.

The golden head before him shook sadly, "I should have gone in his stead. I had wished it."

"But you do not wish it now…?"

Eowyn's mouth dropped open and her face creased in something like pain as she dropped her eyes, "I do not know…" she admitted. _I would have gone in his stead without question…why now do I cling to hope and life?_

She looked up and realised the answer stood before her.

"No…You have returned hope to me…I would not wish your places exchanged though I miss my Uncle sorely."

Grey eyes bored into blue and a wordless understanding seemed to pass between them. A tiny smile banished the utter despair clouding the young Captain's features, and the White Lady felt something yet unnamed within her stir to life secretly. _Love._

* * *

A/N: Masive thanks Aas always to those of you who are reading this and especially to those of you who are reviewing, your feedback has been most welcome! I really appreciate it. Sorry for the long absence before this update, I've been on a fieldtrip, have lots of exams coming up, and to top it all off my laptop has decided to become riddled with viruses so I am having to rewrite on my sister's computer instead. Please bear with me...

Aliyssa x


	11. Chapter 11

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**Chapter Eleven: Awaiting the Stroke of Doom**

The next morning was cold and grey when Faramir awoke, the fire in his grate having long since diminished. A dark expression passed over his face as he was reminded of his dreams and disjointed images of questing, hungry flames battered his mind. He eyedthe remaining embers with dread, a pit forming in his stomach as the wind howled keenly outside and brightened the hearth. He shivered and quickly dressed as the chill in the air assaulted his limbs, smiling after a moment and wondering if the shieldmaiden of the North would find the day cold or if she would welcome this Northerly chill as a reminder of home.

He left his room in search of his fair companion, finding her engrossed in conversation with Merry. The young hobbit's round face was grave and serious until he looked up, jumping.

"Lord Faramir! G'morning," he said smiling, clearly enthused to see his friend.

"Hello Merry, Eowyn," he returned, nodding to each of them. "How fare you this morning? Have you yet had breakfast?"

"We've had one yes…" Merry replied, his face eager and hopeful as he looked up his tall companion's conspiratorial grin.

"Indeed. Well then, I shall find you a second master Merriadoc. You must keep up your strength."

Eowyn smiled as she watched him walk away. "He is a good man," she said softly.

"Yes, it is a pity he does not see it," Merry responded sadly, elaborating at Eowyn's questioning gaze, "One cannot be surprised…Gandalf said his father always favoured Boromir…that he thought Faramir a failure because he preferred learning to fighting, that he would never be good enough....that he had no quality or worth..."

The blond haired Rohirrim bit her lip, her expression troubled as a memory returned to her. _I could never be too good to you, could never be good _enough_…_

"If Faramir were to find out about the fire…" Merry trailed off, shaking his head sadly.

"What fire?" Eowyn said nervously, recalling Faramir's agitation the previous night. She stilled at the dread on the little hobbit's face, the horror in his green eyes.

"Pip told me…he was there, and Gandalf. He begged us not to tell anyone lest it get back to Faramir…but perhaps you should know… Denethor's madness overwhelmed him before he died…he built a pyre and he laid Faramir on it, thinking him dead. If not for Gandalf Faramir would be. His father tried to burn him alive."

Eowyn's face paled at his reluctant words, her expression mirroring his own as the awful truth of them permeated her consciousness. Her stomach felt leaden as she wondered how Faramir would react once he knew the truth of his father's demise.

Silence fell between them as their thoughts turned dark. When Faramir returned he found them thus grim of face. He seated himself quietly and set out their plates, conscious of the despair hanging tangibly in the air, wrapped around his brooding friends like a cloak. Neither of them would meet his eyes and so it was with a sigh that he stood and excused himself.

"Forgive me if I have intruded, good morning," he bowed stiffly and made to depart.

Eowyn's eyes widened in dismay as she looked up suddenly, "Wait!" she called, looking to Merry questioningly. She smiled gratefully when he nodded, not catching the knowing smirk on his face a moment later.

"Was there something you needed?" Faramir asked.

"I only wanted your company, Lord…you have not intruded. I am glad to see you. I am merely discontent with this waiting and I cannot keep my thoughts from turning away from hope. Forgive my silence. It was naught." Eowyn replied gently.

"I understand," the dark haired Captain nodded thoughtfully, "Would you come with me? I…I have something for you."

He smiled at the surprised, bashful expression on Eowyn's face.

"Please?" he implored, taking up her hands as she began to protest, pleased when she relented and followed him. Nervously he lead her to his chamber and bade her wait as he excused himself a moment.

Somewhat confused she agreed and sat looking out of his window until he appeared a while later with a wrapped bundle in his arms.

"I want you to have this," he said, holding it out to her.

"What is it?" Eowyn asked, blushing at Faramir's laugh.

"Open it. You shall see."

The White Lady looked up into his eyes and saw trepidation mingled with respect and admiration, as well as something more that she dared not name. She smiled gently and opened the bundle, a gasp escaping her as the folds of a cloak of midnight blue fell out.

"This is beautiful!" she said, caressing the soft velvet with a trembling hand. She was touched by the thoughtfulness of such a gift, yet wondered why he had gone to the trouble of purchasing something so fine for her. "You should not have…where did you get this?"

"It was my mother's," Faramir replied simply.

"Faramir! I cannot accept this…" Eowyn shook her golden head as he looked upon her with eyes filled with tenderness.

"Eowyn, I want you to have this," he said, watching as she furrowed her brows and turned away, her eyes taking in the carnage outside once more.

"Why?" she whispered, her back still to him. But he dared not answer. He merely smiled, somewhat sadly, as she turned about at his continued silence.

"It is a gift. Take it. Let me…"

Eowyn nodded as he held up the star studded mantle and draped it about her shoulders, her eyes sparkling a little. She smiled at his reflection in the looking glass before her as he rested his hands on her shoulders after doing up the clasp at her throat.

"You look beautiful…" Faramir whispered in a hushed voice.

"You are so kind and good to me. I have done little to deserve this." She said, spinning about to look into his face. "Thank you."

"Nay, thank you. You have done more than you know Eowyn," he said then, a stunning weight of emotions in his gaze as he looked upon her, gently brushing a golden tendril away from her face. Wordlessly they stood thus and time seemed to slow as they each gazed upon the face before them, trying to read the mixture of emotions playing there, searching…

A while later Eowyn broke their silence, reluctantly pulling away from Faramir's hand, somewhat amazed that she sought his touch when she had long thought that the touch of any man would now repel her, that she would never be free of her fear. Yet she felt safe with him. He was so unlike Grima. So tender and caring, so careful of her feelings, yet not stiflingly so.

"Would you like to go to the gardens?" she asked a little breathlessly, her face tingling from the touch of his hand.

"I would like that very much," Faramir replied, offering her his arm now that it had begun to heal and could be moved without much pain.

And so they walked about the garden and Faramir smiled as he saw the tell tale blooms of the cherry blossom. "Look," he said, pointing.

"Oh, it is…I have never seen anything like it! It is wonderful." Eowyn exclaimed, rushing over to examine it more closely like an eager child. Faramir smiled fondly as he watched her hasten towards it, his handsome visage becoming somber as he noted the dark clouds tracking across the sky, the oppressive stillness of the air.

His brows pinched over the bridge of his nose as he made his way to the walls once more. The air felt charged. Expectant. Anxiety welled up in his gut and he was glad of Eowyn's presence a moment later as she came to stand with him, her own laughter also gone now.

"What do you look for, Eowyn?" Faramir asked as he turned to watch her.

"Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?" she asked, continuing at his nod, "And must he not now be come thither? It is seven days since he rode away."

The young Captain of Gondor took in the sorrow on her lovely face, his own scarcely veiled longing mirrored there. _I want nothing more than to comfort you…to love you freely…yet how can I when you yearn for the love of one more great than I?_

"Seven days." He agreed gravely, thinking of the last remnants of his family who had gone off to fight. "But think not ill of me, if I say to you: they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know. Joy to see you; but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed."

Faramir looked about him as he spoke, and his grey eyes fastened upon the bright blossoms of the tree behind them, bourn towards them upon the chill wind. A smile touched his face for a moment. _Life goes on though it is faced with uncertainty…spring still fights to banish the chill of winter…as we must to fight the growing Darkness._

"Eowyn," he continued, feelingly, "I would not have this world end now, nor lose so soon what I have found."

"Lose what you have found, Lord?" she asked gently, looking up to meet his gaze. She smiled kindly at him, "I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose. But come, my friend, let us not speak of it! Let us not speak at all!" she said, turning her eyes back out to the Pelennor and the desolate stretch of land beyond the Anduin, the land shrouded in darkness. The wind whipped her hair about her face and she swayed with it, feeling dizzy. When next she spoke her voice was almost ethereal it was so soft.

"I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom."

"Yes, we wait for the stroke of doom," Faramir said, his own voice hushed as if he dared not disturb the unnatural quiet descending over the city of Minas Tirith. The silence was utterly complete save for the pounding of his heart, though even it diminished as the dark clouds over Mordor seemed to grow; up and up and up, endlessly outwards and onwards towards them, consuming the scant light offered by the failing sun.

Still they waited and their hands met.

It was as if time had stopped. There had been no past and there would be no future. There was only the present. There was only the still nothingness of uncertainty.

And then, as the last of the light was lost, a thunderous rumble shimmered through the air breaking the spell Darkness had woven over the city. Lightning flashed through the clouds over Mordor, renting the blanket of shadow looming there. The sun defiantly broke through the clouds, shining out true and bright and clear as they dissipated. And the tide of Darkness halted for a moment.

"It reminds me of Numenor," Faramir whispered.

"Of Numenor?"

"Yes, of the land of Westernesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable. I often dream of it." He said.

Suddenly Eowyn looked into his eyes, and he saw that her own were filled with fear as she sidled closer to him.

"Then you think that the Darkness is coming? Darkness Unescapable?" she asked, unconsciously holding his hand tighter.

Faramir shook his dark head, "No. It was but a picture in the mind. I do not know what is happening…"

And Eowyn looked away from him, and it seemed to her that it must be true, for there was a wave of Darkness welling out above the lands once more. She trembled, turning her attention back to Faramir as he spoke again.

"The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days."

"Yet you have not trusted to reason before now…" Eowyn said uncertainly.

"I have trusted to my heart. And my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and a joy are come to me that no reason can deny." Faramir replied, and she saw the happiness in his grey eyes, felt the conviction in his words.

"Eowyn, Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"

And with that he stooped and drew closer to her, his lips pressing gently to her forehead in a soft kiss as a wind gathered about them. They clung to each other as their eyes were drawn towards Mordor, and they saw the shadows depart, swallowed up by a rising wave of light that encompassed them, and all around, as far as the eye could see. Warmth touched them as the sun climbed to its peak of glory, hidden no longer, and it was silent no more: birds sang merrily, and cries of joy and triumph were carried upon the sweet wind from the city below them as men celebrated.

Faramir looked long into Eowyn's face as the world changed around them and hope returned to all, trying to imprint her beauty, and the beauty of the moment, into his memory forever. But he found he could not speak, that there were no words to describe the feelings within him, and so he smiled at her, his handsome face lit up with happiness as she returned it widely, blue eyes bright with tears.

She blinked in disbelief, her tears falling, laughing now as Faramir picked her up by the waist and spun her about, overwhelmed with joy as an Eagle soared overhead, bearing tidings of a truth felt by all.

The realm of Sauron was ended.  


* * *

A/N: more is on the way soon guys, am just having a bit of trouble with the next chapter and cannot seem to get it right, but I'm working on it so it can be expected soon. Hope you enjoyed this last, even though it was short...thanks as always!


	12. Chapter 12

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

A/N: I want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story, I have been astounded by its reception. I'm not entirely sure I am happy with this next chapter but I hope that's just cause I've been looking at it too long lol.

I also want to dedicate it to** Forsterb **as a thank you for reviewing every chapter so far. I hope you like it! :)

**Chapter Twelve: Of Duty and Love**

The dark haired ranger of Ithilien looked critically at his reflection; his sombre visage tainted with uncertainty and nervousness, his weakened body trembling against the feelings roiling through him. He scrubbed a hand wearily through his locks and down across his mouth, folding it into a frown. He shook his head with a snort.

"This day should not have been mine..." he mumbled uneasily, glancing at the silvery object clutched in his palm.

_These are yours now...when you are ready..._

He took a deep breath and steeled himself, fastening the Steward's keys onto his belt loop. He had work to do. Already Minas Tirith was alive with the burbling excitement of men awaiting the return of their king. Their salvation. Faramir could still feel the echo of relief mingled with elation as he recalled the revelation the Eagle's had brought to the city the previous afternoon. It had seemed like a dream, indeed it continued to – he felt sure that it always would.

Faramir smiled in disbelief, finally donned a black tunic emblazened with the symbols of Gondor, surveying himself once more, tying to ignore the images his memory conjured before him; the sneering distaste..._you wish now that our places had been exchanged...yes, I wish that..._.

A ragged sigh escaped him and he turned on his heel and stepped out into the weak sunlight. It was early and the air was still cool, though Faramir hoped to find Eowyn, and Merry, up and in the gardens. He was not disappointed for their silhouttes were clear to him upon the walls watching the rising of the golden sun upon the smoke free horizon.

"And so a new life begins with the dawning of a new day..." he whispered to himself.

He watched his friends quietly for a time before ambling over to them to take up a seat at Eowyn's side.

"I can still scarcely believe the truth before my eyes..." she said softly. He nodded and follwed her gaze; the brooding clouds of Mordor were no more, green life could be seen bursting tenaciously through the scorched ground, rising up like a pheonix from the ashes on the Pelennor below them, the sunshine fuller, brighter, holding the promise of peace. After a moment Eowyn turned about so that her blue eyes were fastened instead upon Faramir's face. She took in his formal attire and read the anxiety in his troubled countenance, her calm content vanishing.

"You are leaving," she said abruptly. He nodded slowly and reluctantly at her as Merry watched their interchange with wide eyes.

"I am afraid that I must. There is much to be done to prepare for the king's return. I have been given leave from these houses under the condition that I do not tax myself overmuch."

"Thought you are not yet healed? Faramir..." Eowyn's face pinched in worry as she took in the near-concealed bandage beneath his starched collar.

He turned to her fully then, smiling kindly at her. "I am well enough Eowyn, though I am loathe to leave you."

The White Lady found that she could not reply and looked away with a blush, thoughts rushing through her head, her feelings in turmoil. _Then why must you go? Do not leave me here alone..._

"Because it is my duty," he responded, and Eowyn stiffened as she realised she had spoken aloud, her words ringing petulantly in her own ears. "I will return as often as I am able, and you will not be alone. Young Master Merriadoc wil be always at your side -unless I am much mistaken." Faramir continued, smiling at the curly headed hobbit as he nodded, agreeing emphatically.

"Yes I shall!"

"Forgive me Merry, I did not mean-"

"I know my Lady," Merry interrupted her apology, his eyes twinkling with understanding and mischief. He caught her shocked blush and hastily retreated to find breakfast to give his companions time alone.

"You shall always be in my thoughts, Eowyn, when I am not here to be by your side." Faramir said softly, once Merry had departed.

Eowyn trembled as Faramir's hand reached out to cup her cheek, turning her face towards his own. He caressed it lightly, reading the fear in her eyes, compassion softening his own as he mumbled softly to her, with a shake of his head, "Do you not trust me? I will return."

"I know. I am sorry. I must seem so selfish."

"Nay, if I were to listen to my heart I would stay with you always." Faramir said. He dropped his hand then, turning away as he bit his lip, afraid of saying too much.

The shieldmaiden of Rohan stilled as he spoke, her mind reeling at his words, the look in his eyes, the memory of his soft warm lips...and her heart cried out when he removed his palm from her face. She caught it up quickly from his lap a moment later and gave it a squeeze as tears leaked from her eyes. He held it in return, though his gaze remained fastened on the East, lost in thought.

"I must go, I have tarried too long. I am expected."

Eowyn glanced up as Faramir reluctantly dropped her hand, slowly standing. She hastily jumped to her feet, feeling suddenly stupid as she gaped at him wordlessly. A benevolent smile passed his handsome face, yet she saw in it a melancholic strain, as of one whose heart was aching. She stepped towards him, longing to ease his obvious pain, oblivious to its cause.

"Meleth nin," he mumbled, gently, holding her close with a deep sigh. She steeled herself against her tears and sank into his arms willingly, enjoying the warmth and comfort they offered. After a moment he pulled back and took up her hand, pressing a kiss against it. "Meleth nin, I will return," he whispered, his own eyes bright. And with that he turned about and strode from the gardens, leaving the White Lady alone upon the walls.

* * *

It was dark when he next came to her, and still she sat upon the walls. She heard not his soft approach, her mind busy with many thoughts and worries.

"You seem troubled. Are you well?" Faramir's deep voice was hushed yet startled her nonetheless.

"I am quite well," she murmured, falling silent once more. She pulled her starry mantle about her with a sigh as he seated himself beside her with a groan and a jingle of keys. She turned to him then, taking in the strain written clearly upon his handsome face, the tension and weight of burden pressing down upon his broad shoulders.

"And you, are you well this evening?" she asked gently.

A ragged sigh escaped him, "I am well enough. How does Merry fare?"

"He is worried about his cousins...we have still had no word from the Black Gate. I fear for my brother also," she admitted quietly, banishing the tears forming in her eyes before they had the chance to fall.

"Eowyn," Faramir breathed, sliding closer to her to take up her chilled palm. She heard the compassion in his voice, felt the concern and understanding in his gaze as it roved across her pale face, yet she could not bring herself to do more than stare into the night. "Eomer is a strong man. It may be yet that he-"

"Comfort me not with false words," she said sharply, tugging away her hand, unable to harbour any hope for fear of yet more loss and devastation.

"I do not speak falsely, Lady, though if you wish me to remain silent I shall."

She cringed as the young Steward spoke, cursing her spiteful tongue as her tears began anew. Through them she gazed out at the East, thinking of her brother, praying for his safe return and stoic presence. Eowyn found herself then wondering what he would make of the handsome Captain of Gondor if he were to meet him. A smile touched her countenence then and a sigh escaped her, carried away by the soughing breeze.

After an interval of silence she carefully turned her head to watch Faramir, hoping she had not angered or hurt him with her bitter words. He seemed not to notice her gaze, his grey eyes locked onto the stars overhead with unwavering intensity. By their light she saw the shadows ringing his eyes and became aware how late it was, a pang of guilt surging through her; he had come to visit her to fulfil his promise and she had met him with barbed words and silence, yet still he remained, his presence warm and solid at her side.

"You must be weary," she spoke gently, fighting an urge to stroke her hand through the raven locks before her. His head dropped then, hanging limply between his knees as he brought them up to his chest.

"There is much to do," he admitted, scrubbing a hand over his jaw as his eyes flickered over to her.

Eowyn's brows pinched in sympathy, he looked lost suddenly, overwhelmed with responsibility and duty. She wanted to look after him as he had done so often for her.

"Perhaps you should get some rest," she suggested. He nodded but made no move to get up, instead leaned closer to her, his hand tucking a tendril of stray hair behind her ear.

"I do not wish to go yet," the young ranger said softly.

"I do not wish it of you either, Faramir, but neither do I wish you to harm yourself by not taking the rest you need."

"Hush, I will come by no harm when I am near you, Meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a finger against her lips, tracing the gentle curves there. Eowyn shivered in response to the light touch, her lips parting with shock and desire. She drew closer to him as he dipped his head neared to her own, knowing that the intense longing held in Faramir's eyes was mirrored in her own. Yet suddenly he drew back, pain and doubt clear in his eyes now as he looked over her face.

"Faramir," she mumbled, confused.

"Forgive me, I should not have -" he broke off, shaking his head in obvious agitation and distress as he rose to his feet.

"You are leaving?" Eowyn asked then, voice laced with uncertainty and pain.

"Perhaps it is best," came the Captain's hesitant response. He held out a hand to help her to her feet and she felt the trembling in his palm, nodding her agreement. She let him steer her to her rooms, standing before him wordlessly on the threshold. Waiting...

He murmured a goodnight and turned on his heel swiftly, his body melting into the deep shadows before she found her voice.

"Faramir!"

He slowed and came back into the light, and she closed the distance between them, staring up into his sad eyes, her own full of questions.

"Why did you call me Meleth nin? What does it mean?" she asked suddenly, unexpectedly. The White Lady was shocked at the flush that spread over Faramir's visage, and the pallour that followed as his fine grey eyes filled with tears.

"Do you not know?" his melodious voice was strained. He blinked and a tear was let loose as she shook her head. A bittersweet smile flitted over his face then as he reached out a strong hand to caress her soft cheek once more. "It matters not..."

Faramir said, his expression one of utmost pain. He bit into his full lips to stop their trembling, drawing blood with the force.

"Stop! Faramir, what is wrong?" Eowyn cried, her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. Still he shook his head.

"Please, Eowyn, it matters not!" _I cannot give you what you seek..._

"Yet clearly it does!" she insisted, holding him so that he could not escape.

"Is everything alright?" Merry's sleepy voice interrupted them a moment later, his worried eyes going between the two of them.

"Fine, Merry, thank you. Goodnight," Faramir said, turning about, his figure vanishing moments later. Eowyn stared after him, breathing hard, her fists clenched at her side in a vain attempt to still thier trembling.

"My lady?"

Her golden head turned to face him then and the little hobbit saw the confusion and hurt vying for first place in her gaze. He immediately took her hand.

"I am sorry, Merry..." she mumbled sadly, turning back hoping to catch a glimpse of Faramir, knowing he was gone, her voice thick with tears as she continued, "Goodnight my friend."

With that she dropped his palm and barred the door to her room, tears dampening her face as she meandered across her room towards the open window, the night air drying the watery streaks in a poor substitute to the gentle warmth of a hand she had grown accustomed to.

"Why did he leave?" Eowyn asked aloud, her voice young and sad and full of misunderstanding. She snorted bitterly then. "I am a shieldmaiden, what do I know of matters of the heart..."

* * *

Faramir briskly made his way to the Steward's chambers, his flight through the city leaving him breathless and tremulous. He sank gratefully into a high backed chair, fisting his hands through his hair. _I have said too much...I should have kept silent...I cannot compare to Aragorn..._

He closed his eyes against the whirling dots dancing before him, a shaky sigh escaping him a moment later. He glanced up at the papers strewn about his father's office. He would find no rest tonight; he had neglected his duties too long and had much to atone for. He pulled the chair closer to the desk and began pouring over the papers stacked about him, ordering them as best he could by the light of a few dim candles. He was disturbed a while later by a servant who had brought a tray of food, suspecting that the young lord had gone without dinner. Faramir hastily shewed them away, taking a few scant morsels to keep up his strength, before turning back to his work. All through the night he made new lists and penned letters, eventually falling asleep for a short time before dawn. He was roused at first light with breakfast, his fatigue denying the prospect of food with an unhealthy churning. Instead he washed quickly and dressed, his befuddled mind and weary body already protesting his work load, screaming at him for rest. Come mid-morning a letter arrived and it was with a shaking hand that he opened it.

"Valar be praised," he mumbled, wiping his dewy eyes. It was from Imrahil; he and his sons had survived the battle. The young Captain's thoughts instantly went to his friends in the Houses of Healing and he knew that he would find no peace until he had made amends for his actions the night before, and till he knew how their loved ones fared. He found the White Lady and the_ perian _under the cherry blossom in the gardens, the sun warming their happy faces.

"Have you had news from the Cormallen?" Faramir asked, his expression full of hope at the light in both their eyes.

Eowyn nodded at him amidst her tears as Merry chattered on about Pippin, Frodo and Sam, and Faramir felt his eyes mist over with the joy of it all.

"...I am leaving tomorrow. They have asked us go and to and celebrate with them!" Merry exclaimed excitedly, bouncing on his wide hairy feet and weaving away to pack his things.

Faramir smiled, nodding quietly at Merry's words. He had expected no less, but was nonetheless saddened by the sudden loneliness that wound its way about his heart as if to squeeze away his happiness. He had eyes only for Eowyn, wondering at the disquiet on her pensieve face. "And you, my lady?" he prompted hesitantly.

"My brother has also asked for my presence," she said softly, watching his reaction, seeing the flicker of loss in his eyes before he shielded them from view. She sat up straighter, twirling her hair in her hands in indesicion. _I am not sure that I want to go...not like this..._

"That is well indeed," he said,"You must send them my best. I hope I shall have everything in order when you return.''

The dark haired Captain looked at the White Lady gently, "I will miss you, Eowyn. Forgive me. I should have answered you last night..."

She looked at him long and steady, reading something deep within his grey eyes that both scared and excited her, something that she dared not hope for yet could not stop. _Perhaps my heart does not lie..._

"Nay," she said aloud, "It is I who am sorry. I should not have pressed you so, I had no wish to distress you..."

"It is already forgiven," he smiled, "I wondered if perhaps you would help me with something? Would you follow me?"

Eowyn smiled, nodding and taking up Faramir's arm as he lead her down through Minas Tirith, her eyes wide as she gazed about her with wonder at the grandeur and might of the great stone city, even in its desolate ruinous state. It was a marvel of strength tempered with beauty, remote and full of whispered histories lingering in shadowed courtyards, proud, majestic, sorrowful. Eowyn felt as if the stone walls contained the heart of the people of Gondor, beating and shielded beneath the strong foundations of the city, a heart that had suffered but was regaining in strength now that laughter could be heard once more. She now understood the love the men of the South had of this place.

As she walked she also watched Faramir; she saw the great fatigue that seemed to emanate from him, the drawn pallor of his cheeks even under the sunlight, the tight pinch about his eyes as he looked about him at his fallen home. And she saw more than all the love he had for his city, the determination keen in his eyes as he pointed out all that he would put right.

"You are a good man," she said suddenly. He stopped short, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression.

"You cannot know what it means to hear you say that Eowyn, I thank you. But come! I want to show you something..." and so he tugged a little faster on her arm and she laughed as she hurried to keep up with his long legs. When next he slowed it was before a large barn.

"I thought, perhaps, you might be able to help me decide which of our horses are now fit for work and travel..?" the young Captain turned to her questioningly. She beamed at him happily.

"Of course! It would be an honour," Eowyn returned, striding excitedly into the stables. As she looked about her she saw that many of the horses housed there were indeed injured, but that they were well looked after. A stable boy gaped at her as she passed and she smiled to herself as Faramir explained her errand, squirming at the young lad's praise of his valour a moment later. She soon blocked out their voices, pacing the length of the hall to look upon each of the horses within. She turned back to Faramir as he approached her, her golden hair billowing about her.

"Thank you," she said softly, "I know you could have tended to this task without my aid; I am grateful for the help I can give you and for the time away from the healers."

Faramir's grey eyes twinkled at her knowingly as a slow smile traversed across his handsome face. The White Lady let out a short laugh and began tending to the horses, singing softly to herself in Rohirric as she worked, unaware of the wistful look in the young Captain's eyes as he watched her.

"You sing well," he said a while later, garnering a blush from the beautiful maid as she hid behind her veil of golden tresses. "It brings me joy to see you thus happy, Eowyn," Faramir said gently, taking up a brush to begin grooming the mount next to hers, averting his gaze from her slender figure. He busied himself with the work, soon breaking into a light sweat as the sun rose higher in the sky and the heat within the stable became stiffling, only the lilting of Eowyn's sweet voice reminding him of the passage of time. He ran a strong hand through his hair with a sigh, swaying a little, before promptly divesting himself of his black tunic. Feeling instantly relieved he began to work again, now enjoying the feel of a light breeze upon his flesh.

"So this is how the Steward of Gondor passes his days?" Eowyn's voice interrupted his work and he turned to her startled, his face flushing guiltily before he saw the amused flicker in her eyes.

"If it is good enough for the beautiful Princess of Rohan, then so it shall be for the lowly Steward of Gondor," he replied with a bow, content with the bashful smile he was rewarded with.

"I did not know the men of Gondor were come to rival the Horse Lords," she said, watching his skill as he gently yet willfully handled the beast before him, pleased at the laugh that erupted from him a moment later as he swung about to look at her, his grey eyes full of mirth. Eowyn found herself blushing as she took in the sheen of sweat clinging to the leanly muscled body visible beneath his thin shift. He was exceedingly handsome.

"You are too generous," he said smiling with a shake of his raven head. He held out a handful of oats to the questing horse before him, petting its snout as it nuzzled him in thanks, murmuring to it in elvish before making his way to stand by Eowyn once more. "I must go now, I have lingered here too long. Forgive me, I should like to stay."

The blond Rohirrim smiled in understanding. "You will return?" she asked.

"I shall," Faramir promised. "Though I do not know when I shall be able..." he admitted ruefully, running a hand through his hair once more. Eowyn laughed, leaning closer to him to pluck a stray piece of straw from his locks.

"It matters not, I will wait here for you." She promised.

Grey eyes gazed back at blue, steadily, and for a time neither of them spoke as they looked at one another, hope lighting each of their gazes.

Faramir suddenly smiled as he looked into her upturned face, and on impulse pressed a light kiss to her cheek in farewell before departing to his father's office once more. It was still dark inside, despite the sunlight filtering through the dusty window panes, and the air was chill, though the fire blazed in the corner. Faramir walked over to it, slowly, nervously fisting the tunic he held in his hands. His heart beat quickened.

_Bring wood and oil! He is already burning...we must burn...no tomb for Faramir and Denethor...we must burn..._

The young ranger gasped, trembling at the echoes whirling about his head and swooning against the wall.

"No..." he mumbled vehemently, "It cannot be..."

He staggered back, away from the images dancing to life amidst the flames, his hand raising to shield them from view as his breaths quickened. _This day should not be yours…_

"I never wanted this!" Faramir breathed emphatically, his grey eyes holding only anguish and self-loathing as he shook his raven head. He turned away only to catch sight of himself in a mirror; but he saw only his father's hateful face sneering back at him. _You should have burned..._

The young Captain of Ithilien cried out, hurt and anger and pain battling for supremacy in the gutteral noise. It was too much to bear. He struck out at the mirror as the image morphed into one more hated than his father's; his own. He dimly registered the shattering of the silvery surface, the slickening of red blood across his quivering hands, the heat of tears scalding down his cheeks as renegade shards pierced his flesh. None of it mattered.

"I did everything you ever asked!" he said mournfully, his heart breaking with the final realisation that his father had not only wished for his death, but had contrived it. The memories were clear now; he could see the gleam of despair and hatred in his father's eyes as he burned, the anger that he had failed to take his son with him...flames everywhere, questing over him, engulfing him...

Drowning in despair, the young ranger sank to his knees, his broad chest heaving with silent sobs as his vision shimmered, dimmed and went black.

* * *

He came to with a cool hand pressed against his heated brow, a low murmuring escaping his parted lips.

"Faramir! Please, open your eyes..."

And he obeyed the sweet voice full of concern, fighting his way towards it.

"Meleth nin," he whispered huskily, a smile almost reaching his eyes before tears sprang there first. _She does not love you...how could she? How could anyone, even were she less perfect? Even your father hated you..._

He turned away from her cool hand, sitting up suddenly, swaying, looking around him through the gloom at the destruction he had wrought with shame and regret. He felt Eowyn's eyes on him but could not meet her questioning gaze.

"Faramir..." she said, trailing off uncertainly as he bowed his head with sorrow, his gaze fastened upon the dying embers of the fire before him. She felt her heart stop for a moment. The White Lady forced his eyes upon her, her own full of sympathy as she read the devastation they held. He knew. Wordlessly she pulled him towards her, her hands running through his soft raven hair as she soothed him. He sank into her, holding onto her as if a lifeline, and Eowyn's tears soon joined his as she listened to his grief. After a time he quieted somewhat and she drew his head away from her shoulder to look upon him. Concern washed over her face as she took in the plethora of tiny cuts marring his handsome face, her hands ghosting over them carefully. He caught them up in his own and her gaze was drawn to the bloodied mess with horror.

"What have you done to yourself?" she breathed softly.

The young Rohirrim was shocked by the bitter laugh that Faramir emitted at that, as well as the dark expression etched upon his face as he dropped her hands to look at his own.

"It is but another reminder of my worth," he said, his voice hoarse from tears and devoid of its usual gentle warmth.

"No!" Eowyn replied, shaking her golden head as she picked up his hands. She bent over and kissed each of them tenderly, careful not to hurt him further, watching the disbelief in his grey eyes. "Your worth is greater than I can tell you, Faramir. How can you doubt it?"

She was not surprised by his silence as she gazed up at him, though she needed him to know what he meant to her, how lost she would be without him, and whilst she found no words fitting of his place in her heart the gentle kiss she pressed against his lips told him more than he could have hoped for.

Eowyn's blue eyes were full of embarrassment, her normally pale cheeks suffused with a light pink as she smiled at Faramir, helping him to his feet. He swayed precariously and she ushered him onto a chair as she rang a bell, calling for a tray of food to be brought to them as well as bandages so that she could bind his wounds.

"Ioreth would not be pleased if she saw that this was the way you take care of yourself..."

"I know," Faramir nodded, quietly watching Eowyn's figure as she laid out the trays that arrived a moment later. "You are beautiful," he murmed as she knelt before him, taking his hands. She stilled, her eyes meeting his, conscious of the proximity of their bodies and the heat pouring from his. He looked at her intently, dark eyes full of amazement tinged with longing, and she dipped her head with a smile and began working on his wounds silently, unsure of what she saw in his gaze, if it could be that which she wanted...

"Now," she said briskly, once she had finished, "You need to eat something, and so must I."

"Forgive me, Eowyn, I did not wish to-"

"It is forgotten. Do not fret; I knew something must have been wrong when you did not come back to the stables, and then it got so late and I was awfully worried about you. I am glad I came to you when I did..." Eowyn hushed him, concern tangible in her words as she smiled kindly. He questioned her about the horses and she noted the worry creep into his eyes as they strayed to the papers littered about the darkened room.

"Faramir you must rest!" she said imploringly, pointedly following his gaze.

He sighed, nodding wearily. "You are right...it is just...I have done little save to make a mess this day...I should-"

"Nay. You need sleep. Do not make yourself ill. Please, Faramir...listen to me." Eowyn urged. He paused, taking in the alarm on her visage, the deep concern in the wells of blue gazing back at him. And he agreed. He could see that she was worried about him, for him, and he had no wish to strain her and to threaten her recovery. The smile she bestowed upon him then made his heart leap and his mood brighten until he recalled her imminent departure for the celebrations in Cormallen.

"I will miss you," he said soberly, the weight of his true feelings for her at that moment shining, unbidden, from his eyes.

Eowyn felt her eyes mist over as she looked back at him. She could scarcely believe it, was too terrified to believe it. But she could no longer deny the feelings blossoming in her own heart and the hope his tenderness has kindled there. She gazed at him steadily, biting her lip, still unsure if she wanted to depart for the celebrations. The expression on his handsome face told her to stay, the clenching of her heart as she thought of leaving him echoing the sentiment. Flustered by her thoughts she dropped her gaze, seeing the flash of hurt on Faramir's face as she turned away, making to clear up the tiny reflective shards strewn about the floor. His gaze was heavy upon her back.

"I am not leaving," she blurted.

His warm hand landed upon her arm then and she slowly turned back to him, leaning into the palm he held against her cheek. His soulful eyes spoke of understanding yet he remained silent, reluctant to voice the hope burgeoning within him, but she could see it, a tiny spark of happiness amidst the tides of despair and loss. She wanted so much to still those tides.

"Eowyn," Faramir whispered, and his voice was laced with so many emotions that the young Rohirrim could not speak. She merely stood before him, trembling with uncertainty, aching. He drew closer to her, the warmth of his body enveloping her as he wrapped her in his strong embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of her golden head. She turned her face up towards him then, questions and answers brimming forth from the depths of her blue gaze. A tender smile spread over the pale face before her.

"Eowyn..." he murmured, tracing the line of her proud jaw as he stooped down to capture her tear-stained lips in a brief kiss. His eyes were bright as he stared down at her then, searching, questioning...and she did not know what he saw in her eyes but it made him smile.

"My lord, excuse me," a voice interrupted, and Eowyn stepped out of Faramir's arms, a blush colouring her cheeks as they were joined by a servant who carried away their tray, eyes full of laughter as he took in their discomposure. She cringed. Rumours would be all over the Citadel by the morning.

"I should go..." she said quietly, a rebellious voice in her head countering her words, _Why not stay? Let them talk_.

The young Captain nodded silently, reluctantly, a hand ruffling through his raven locks.

"Goodnight, Faramir, get some rest," Eowyn said gently, a nervous smile lingering about her lips. And with that she was gone, the trace of her perfumed hair and the taste of her lips nothing but a memory. Faramir let loose a heartfelt sigh and walked towards the dirt smeared window, throwing it wide to let the cool night air caress his warmed cheeks. Leaning against the sill he let his mind wander, recalling Eowyn's words and eyes, catching sight of her beautiful shimmering hair on the street below a moment later. He could not believe his own boldness and emitted a short laugh. Yet Eowyn had not appeared frightened, nor repulsed by his advance - indeed had even gently kissed him herself. He sighed wistfully.

_Perhaps I may yet hope to capture her heart..._

* * *

Eowyn returned to the Houses of Healing, confusion raging within her. She wandered alone through the gardens, dwelling on the time she had spent with Faramir there, aching for his solid, soothing presence beside her now as loneliness encompassed her. Her long fingers pinched at the hem of her mantle, drawing it against her as a breeze ruffled through her golden tresses in echo of the sigh that filled her lungs. His lips had been soft and warm against her own; tentative, tender, comforting. A thrill of remembrance shivered through the White Lady's slender frame. She wanted to feel his lips again, to feel his strong arms holding her body against his, hear his heartbeat beneath her ear...

Thoughts of the handsome Captain lingered in her mind and her sleep that night was fitful. It was early in the morning when she arose, tired and filled with trepidation, longing for Faramir's silhouette to appear. But he did not come. Sorrowful and disappointed she bade farewell to Merry as he too left her. With only herself for company she soon grew distant, becoming lost in her memories and thoughts, unresponsive to the attention of the Healers_._

_Mayhap I should have done as I was bidden and joined my brother...for it seems he alone cares for me now..._

"Why did I stay here?" she mumbled, gazing up at the clear sky, blue eyes filled with pain_. Faramir_...her traitorous mind supplied.

Her pale face blanched yet further as tears clouded her vision, her own words coming back to her_. Your worth is greater than I can say_...Eowyn released a huff of laughter as her tears scalded across her cheeks, dashing them away angrily a moment later_; I love you...why could I not say thus? For so it must be. I can see it now._

Bitterly she wept then, her head cradled upon her lap as she lay upon the grass, her golden locks spread about her glinting in the sunlight. Voices drifted to her, bourn upon the warm breeze; they were full of joy and mirth and made her cry in greater earnest. It seemed she alone was sorrowful. For her heart had broken anew and Eowyn felt the hope within her fade as her dreams crumbled. They had been in vain. Faramir had not come.

* * *

A/N: More to come soon, should be a quicker update as my exam period is drawing to a close next week :) Hope you all enjoyed it and that the length made up for the delay! Thanks for reading x


	13. Chapter 13

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**Chapter 13: A Healing Truth**

The White Lady's new found sorrow was plain for all to see. The Warden of the Healing Houses grew anxious, his wise heart perceiving the cause of her distress whilst knowing it was ill founded, for it was also plain to him that the young Captain cared deeply for her. His belief was compounded when he made his way to the Steward's office to speak with him. "Lord Faramir," he began with a bow. The younger man swept to his feet amidst a cloud of papers and extended his hand.

"Good afternoon. What brings you here?" he asked, worry clouding his features as he took in the troubled countenance before him.

"Truthfully, I came to beg you to speak with the Lady Eowyn; she dwindles, has become sullen and withdrawn, sorrowful." Regret creased his features, "I cannot heal her heart, yet, if I may be bold, something tells me that you can...and that she would desire it."

Shock, guilt and concern welled up within Faramir. He nodded, "I had hoped to heal her heart and to keep it safe always...for she has captured my own," he admitted quietly.

An understanding smile passed the Warden's face then, "An old man always knows the look of love when he sees it...tell her how you feel."

Faramir nodded, a slight flush to his cheeks as he looked back at the elderly Healer, trepidation clear in his eyes. He made his way to the gardens hurriedly, his gaze immediately drawn to the slender golden beauty atop the walls. He sighed deeply.

"Eowyn," he said tentatively, joining her.

She looked at him in surprise before turning away cooly, her eyes drawn to the East. "Lord," she mumbled.

Faramir followed her gaze, his own pained. He turned back to face her, anxiety clouding his features: she did indeed look paler, her eyes dulled with fatigue and devoid of the glimmering hope he had glimpsed there previously. The young lord still thought her a vision of perfection and his heart broke to see her so filled with pain and loneliness, his chest constricting as an ache grew within him as the silence between them lengthened. It was unbearable in the wake of the growing intimacy they had shared.

"Eowyn," Faramir began feelingly, reaching towards her hand. It was cold once more. Still she gazed longingly, steadily eastward and Faramir said, "Why do you tarry here, and do not go rejoicing in Cormallen, beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?"

"Do you not know?"She echoed his words to her, her voice a hushed calm, oddly detached, so at odds with the stormy eyes she turned upon him.

"Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know."

Anger flashed like steel in the eyes boring into his own searchingly. "I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!" Eowyn said, pulling her hand away.

Faramir nodded compliantly, "Then if you will have it so, lady. You do not go, because only your brother called for you, and to look upon the Lord Aragorn, Elendil's heir, in his triumph now would bring you no joy," his voice trembled as he spoke of Aragorn, knowing he had little to compare to the man .

Eowyn said nothing, only watched him with a strange expression on her face as he continued.

"Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them."

The young Rohirrim blushed at his astute words, Faramir had ever perceived the truth in her heart. Shock stilled her thoughts as he spoke again.

"Eowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?" Faramir asked, and his grey eyes were bright, full of nervous hope mingled with dread.

"I wished to be loved by another," she answered slowly, not daring to believe what she read in his eyes, sure she was wrong, for how could it be? "But I desire no man's pity."

"That I know." He replied, and now a tear meandered over his cheek. Her words were as daggers to his heart. "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain may seem to a young soldier he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is..."

Eowyn turned away from Faramir, her feelings in turmoil as his words stirred the painful memories locked away within her.

"But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle. Look at me Eowyn!" Faramir said then, grabbing her arm gently to turn her about. He gazed steadily into her eyes, breathing hard as he worked to calm the passionate upset running through his veins. "Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Eowyn!" he admonished, dropping her arm to run a hand through his hair with a sigh.

Silently Eowyn stood before him, watching as he paced away from her, breathing deeply the cool wind whipping about them. Guilt flushed through her and she waited, her features softening, her hurt anger draining. "I am sorry," she whispered as he turned back a moment later.

Faramir continued as if she hadn't spoken, "But I do not offer you my pity." He said, his eyes full of tender regard, "For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond the words of even the Elven-tongue to tell."

_What do you offer me then? Tell me..._Eowyn waited, filled with trepidation as Faramir paused. She stepped closer to him, her heart aching. _Please...let it be-_

"And I love you." Faramir stated then, simply, as if reading her mind. "Once I pitied your sorrow. But now... were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor...still I would love you."

Tears sprang in up in Eowyn's eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked as he stepped close to her, his hands upon her face as he gazed into her eyes, banishing her tears as they fell. _Am I dreaming...?_

"Eowyn, do you not love me?" Faramir whispered, breaking her reverie.

And she smiled then, a joyous laugh burbling up within her.

"I stand in Minas Arnor, the Tower of the Sun, and behold! The Shadow has departed!" she said, pulling Faramir closer to her, the truth plain in her blue eyes as she gazed into his own, "I do love you."

The young ranger of Ithilien pulled her into a tight embrace. She mumbled into his chest as he rested his head atop hers, "I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, not take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren. No longer do I desire to be a queen." She said, looking up again at Faramir with a smile_. Her Faramir._

He laughed, disbelief clear in his grey eyes, sure he must be dreaming. He leant into the palm Eowyn held against his cheek then, turning to kiss it a moment later.

"That is well, for I am not a king. Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will." He smiled, continuing at her enthusiastic nod, wiping at the tears flowing freely over her beaming face. "And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

A teasing expression crossed Eowyn's face, mischief twinkling in her happy eyes. "Then I must leave my own people, man of Gondor?" she asked haughtily, "And would you have your proud folk say of you: "There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Numenor to choose?"'

Faramir ran a hand over her face, his expression becoming more serious, weighted. "I would." He said and Eowyn smiled as he drew her into his arms tightly, and pressed his lips against her own. She melted against him, her heart fluttering as he deepened their kiss, sure she would burst from the joy soaring through her. She was breathless when Faramir pulled back, happiness and content radiating from him as he looked upon her. He shook his head in wonderment.

"I had scarcely dared to dream of this moment, though it has long been my heart's desire... Meleth nin..." he whispered softly, swooping down to kiss her once again, amidst much cheering from a crowd of onlookers below the walls on which they stood. He cared not. "My love..." he said, a lingering smile upon his handsome face as understanding dawned upon Eowyn's delicate features, her blue eyes alight.

"Oh, Faramir," she breathed feelingly. "This is more than I could have dreamed of. So, so much more..."

And it was. The happiness that surged within her was unlike any she had felt before; it was sweet, warm, true. She ached with it. Tingled with it. Overflowed with it. It banished the shadows clinging to her heart and chased away her loneliness and despair, enveloping her. It was utter bliss.

* * *

A/N: I am so sorry I took so long to update, my muse decided to get a bit stuck with this one. I hope I have done a meagre amount of justice to this scene, I really wanted to. Thanks, as always for reading and revieweing - you guys are awesome :)


	14. Chapter 14

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**Chapter 14: Doubt and Memory**

The days that followed were joyous and full of preparations for the return of the king. Minas Tirith was alive with excitement and song. Sunlight greeted Eowyn each morning with a smile that echoed the resounding happiness of her soul. No longer did she sit idle, gazing East upon the walls in search of her heart's desire, nor for a measure of peace- she had found love within the walls of the stone city she had thought akin to a cage and it was now dear to her. And so she did all she could to help rebuild it, for she had been deemed fit to leave the Healing Houses, though still she resided there, learning the lore of herbs, always smiling. Faramir came to her as often as his duties as Steward would permit and they walked hand in hand through the gardens each night, gazing out at the stars strewn overhead, twinkling and bright in an ever- clear sky.

"This scarcely feels real…" Faramir murmured one night as he looked out at the healing lands below him, lit up by the power of the heavens. His eyes were bright and Eowyn smiled at him, a comforting hand winding around his strong arm. He dropped his gaze to her face instead, shaking his head in happiness tinged with disbelief.

"Dreams are not always this sweet," Eowyn said, reaching up to place a kiss against the full lips she had grown so fond of. She smiled at the sigh that escaped the handsome man at her side, her eyes dancing as she watched him. The light breeze ruffled his raven locks, pushing them back from his pale face. "Are you alright, Faramir?" she asked, taking in the tiny lines creasing his forehead.

"I am merely worried," he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Why?"

Faramir looked down at the woman he hoped to one day call his wife, a sadness veiled behind his smile as he answered, "I do not want to wake up…" he laughed, running a hand through his hair, feeling silly, "If this is a dream, I would have it last for always, Eowyn."

"What are you saying?" her voice was soft and full of concerned confusion.

"I do not want to lose you," he admitted quietly.

"And you will not…Faramir, why would you think that?" Eowyn asked, canting her golden head to one side. She forced his eyes upon her then as he looked away, shocked by the tears she saw. Ignoring his silence she pulled him against her and wrapped her arms about him. He held her tightly, his far reaching gaze drawn to the dim flicker of light upon the horizon. The king would soon return.

* * *

_The sky was a perfect bright blue. Faramir smiled, reminded of Eowyn's beautiful gaze. A contented sigh left his lips as he strolled along the streets of the White City, the air full of laughter and birds calling to one another softly from the treetops. The War of the Ring was over and a feeling of peace was come to the young ranger as he walked, carefree, through his home city. His feet followed the winding cobbled streets of their own accord and so he dutifully trod the path they ordained, humming gently to himself and smiling serenely. _

_After a time the birdsong ceased and clouds mustered overhead. Unease grew in the pit of his stomach. A shrill cry rent the air. _

"_No!" Faramir whispered, dismayed, as a dark shadow wheeled overhead, obscuring the sunlight. Darkness followed in the wake of the Fell Beast's leathery wings and Faramir backed away from the Nazgul as it landed before him, clawed feet clacking upon the cobbles. _

_Eyes of fire bored into him as he stood frozen in horror, his father's voice reaching him from the creature's face "…Your places should have been exchanged…" _

"_This cannot be…" Faramir shook his head in disbelief._

_A rictus broke out onto the face before him and Faramir found himself staggering away from the foul vision before him as a pain blossomed over his chest. He tore along the empty street, death snapping greedily at his heels. Sweat beaded upon his brow and trickled down his spine as he ran, suddenly turning cold as he realized where he was._

_The Silent Street. Rath Dinen. The Houses of the Dead. _

_Grey eyes widened in revulsion and dismay for the way was paved with blood._

_But he could not stop, though his pursuer had vanished. Slowly, inexorably, he was drawn onwards…onwards into darkness so thick it was almost palpable._

"_Your places should have been exchanged."_

_This time the voice was soft and quiet and sad. And it pierced into Faramir's very soul. He followed it against his will, an ache growing in his heart even as a leaden pit formed in his stomach. He passed the threshold of the Steward's house, the coldness of the tomb creeping like an entity up his back, chilling him to the core._

"_Eowyn..?" he reeled as her figure materialized out of the gloom, the words repeating themselves falling from her rosy lips. Thick tears dropped from her eyes as hands grabbed him from behind. The dark haired ranger struggled against the gnarled, aged fingers gripping him, unable to dislodge them before he was forced onto a pile of dry wood._

_It reeked of oil._

"_No!" he screamed, thrashing as the sound of his brother's horn filled his mind._

"_Yes," the malice in the sibilantly uttered word focused his mind once more, the withered hands once again appearing before his eyes. "Yes, my son, I wish this…bring wood and oil!" _

_Madness gleamed in the eyes of Denethor as he beckoned to Eowyn and Faramir realized that it was not tears that fell so thick from her eyes. It was oil. _

"_Stop, please! Eowyn, do you not love me?" Faramir implored, turning beseeching eyes filled with pain towards her. _

_Unimaginably agony ripped through Faramir's body as flames suddenly reared around him. A shrill laugh echoed throughout the dim tomb, its timbre resonating with insanity that matched the smile that split Denethor's craggy face in pleasure as he listened to his son's cries, flames dancing merrily in his eyes. Faramir turned away from the image, his eyes once again drawn to the beautiful woman standing as if a statue beside him. _

"_Do you not love me?"_

_She merely blinked at him, oil dripping over her face as she replied coldly, "I wished to be loved by another…"_

_And with that Eowyn turned and stalked away, drawn towards a tall man standing silhouetted against the doorway, only the light of a green gem glimmering upon his forehead yielding a clue to his identity. _

The young Captain of Gondor awoke with a strangled cry. His heart battered furiously against his ribs as if seeking escape from the confines of his chest and tears mingled with sweat upon his pale face. A choked sob was released past his tight throat as Faramir reached a trembling hand up to swipe at his dewy brow, face contorted against the echo of pain residing in his heart.

He stood and paced to the windows, letting the cool morning air calm his senses as a knock startled him from his dark reverie.

"Come," he called, his voice haggard and exhausted to his own ears. He cringed.

A household maid entered his chamber, burdened by a large vat filled with steaming water which she then poured into his bathtub before excusing herself.

Faramir divested himself of his bedclothes and sank gratefully into the bath. The warmth eased the ache in his taut muscles but did little to quell the lingering uncertainty roiling within his gut. Aragorn was to return today. What if Eowyn did have feelings for him still? What if she was merely resigning herself to second best by accepting his proposal? Such were the thoughts that plagued the young ranger throughout the morning as he made the last preparations for the king's return, his nightmare never far from the forefront of his mind.

Thus it was that the Lady of Rohan found him in the gardens of the Houses of Healing, seated at a low bench, lost in troubled thoughts and seeking some solitude away from duties.

"Faramir!" She ran towards him smiling, a basket full of herbs and flowers held loosely in one hand as her golden hair streamed out behind her.

"Good morning," Faramir said, rising and catching her in his arms as she buried her face against his chest. He held her tightly, some of the tension in his posture evaporating. "Did you find rest?"

She nodded, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet in distracted excitement. Taking up his hand she dragged him towards the walls, beaming as she pointed to the column of battle weary riders and bright banners fluttering in the breeze. "He is nearly here!"

Faramir's smile dropped a little as he followed her rapturous gaze. His stomach churned nervously as the sun glinted off a green gem on the forehead of the front rider. It was Aragorn. Old doubts nagged at him. His face paled. _I cannot compete with a king…_

"I am so happy I can finally introduce you to my brother," Eowyn said, continuing on, oblivious to her lover's woe. Her blue eyes sparkled with happiness as she watched the golden helmed rider beside Aragorn raise his hand in an obvious greeting. She grinned. Eomer had recognized her.

"They will be here by nightfall," She said, turning to Faramir happily. Her face fell when she saw his. It was full of doubt and pain. Before she could speak they were interrupted by a messenger who she quickly dispatched. "Come with me," she said leading Faramir away from the Houses of Healing, down through the meandering levels of the city. He followed her obediently into the stables and at her request mounted onto his horse to follow her.

Once they were outside the gates she turned in her saddle.

"Take me somewhere quiet, where no-one will interrupt us," She pleaded softly.

"As you wish," Faramir nodded, almost smiling amidst his confusion. He cantered forward, enjoying the freedom of wind in his hair once more and the heat of the sun on his back, his troubles forgotten for a time.

Eowyn's face was turned up to the sun, her eyes closed, face full of blissful content as her golden tresses billowed out behind her. It did not seem like the same field she had battled on now, it was springing full of life and the scars of war were slowly diminishing, leaving but faint traces. Faramir could not help but smile at her, her happiness warming his sore heart. He led her towards a little known spot a few miles away from the looming walls of the White City and her watchful sentries.

"Will this suffice?" he asked cheekily.

The Lady of Rohan looked about her, her blue eyes sparkling as she took in her surroundings. The sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy overhead, cascading over the earth-bound occupants She sought to warm, green grass unmarred by the passage of war flowing more thickly underfoot as if reaching up with unattainable need to the golden shafts above.

"It shall," Eowyn smiled, dismounting with a jump. She stroked her mare softly across the muzzle, murmuring to it in Rohirric. Faramir followed suit and leaned against the trunk of a delicate silvery tree, breathing in deeply the scents of the woods. It was clean, fresh, loamy…it was the smell of home, of Ithilien.

A hand on his chest startled him and his eyes opened in surprise just as Eowyn's soft lips closed over his own. Despite the worry clouding his happiness he could not but respond to her touch, his hands reaching around her back to pull her close as he deepened their kiss. He pulled away a moment later, hand stroking the side of her beautiful face as he gazed into her eyes.

"Why did you want to come here, Eowyn?" he asked.

She looked at him gravely, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes gone. "You are troubled. Talk to me Faramir, please. What pains you? I can see it in your eyes…You should be rejoicing, the king is come!"

Immediately sorrow filled Faramir's soulful eyes as he gave a half smile. His throat constricted as he looked away. Eowyn's face fell in realization.

"You think that I yet love Lord Aragorn…" she whispered in horror. Faramir's continuing silence affirmed her theory and she shook her head almost angrily as she fisted her hands through her hair with a sigh. "Faramir, how can you think that?"

He sighed and sank to the leaf littered floor, the normally calming sound of the burbling pool of sparkling water to his left suddenly roaringly load. Eowyn's gentle hands held his wrists and pulled them away from his face as she sank to her knees before him. His deep, melodic voice cracked as he spoke of his dream, needing to confide his fears in Eowyn.

"Aragorn is the greatest of men…" he spoke softly, his voice hushed with pain as a laugh escaped him, "Why would you settle for me when you could have so much more? When you _wanted_ so much, and deserve so much, more?"

Tears beaded in Eowyn's eyes, painting across a pale face full of naïve disappointment – she had thought that sorrow would be left behind her now but quickly realized how foolish her hopeful thoughts had been; wounds of the heart were harder to heal. She wiped her tears away angrily, her tone emphatic as she forced Faramir's eyes upon her.

"I do _not_ love him, I never truly did…it was as you said a childish admiration – nothing more. Nothing like what I feel for you…Faramir, I want you. Only you. I love you!" Her slender hand gripped his own, placing it over her breast, "My heart belongs to you. Do you not believe me?"

"I only want you to be happy, Eowyn."

"I _am_ happy now. You did that, Faramir. You gave me reason to smile, to laugh, to love…You have naught to fear, for I shall always love you," Eowyn whispered softly, her hands upon his face. She smiled when Faramir looked back up at her, leaning into her palms for a heartbeat.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to doubt you." He murmured gravely.

"You doubted me only because you doubt yourself," Eowyn said ruefully, "You should not. If you saw what I see…" she laughed amidst her tears and shook her head, "…a strong, handsome man, with a good honest heart; how could I not but love you."

"Oh Eowyn," Faramir breathed, a shy smile creeping onto his face. And with that he pulled her into his arms and she settled against his chest with a content sigh as he kissed the top of her head. Thus they sat for some time, watching the play of sunlight upon the cool water burbling alongside them, listening to the sounds of the soughing trees and the chorusing birds chirruping merrily within them.

"Perhaps we should return to the city," Faramir spoke reluctantly into Eowyn's ear.

"Not yet, please," the White Lady implored, hugging his arms about herself fiercely. His deep laugh rumbled through her a moment later and he began trailing gentle kisses down her neck, his fingers resting, feather-light, upon her shoulders as the fabric there slid aside to reveal her unblemished white skin. She trembled against him as he pressed a tender kiss against her bare flesh before pulling her garment over her shoulder safely.

"You are so beautiful, meleth nin," he whispered. Eowyn turned to face him, a blush colouring her cheeks as she read the desire in the dark eyes regarding her. She smiled and kissed him deeply once more before springing lithely to her feet. She sat astride her horse before Faramir even knew what had happened, tossing a challenge over her shoulder as he rose slowly to his feet, brushing leaves from his trousers.

"Do you think you can beat me back to the city, man of Gondor?" she asked cheekily.

Faramir grinned, "Perhaps…"

And with that he leapt upon his horse, catching up with Eowyn a moment later. He kept pace with her mount, cutting his eyes across to capture her own. She smiled and let loose a laugh.

"You ride well, for a man of the South!" she called, putting on an extra burst of speed. Faramir chuckled at that and hunkered lower in his saddle, edging ahead of Eowyn. But the White Lady would not be beaten and sprinted ahead once more, making distance that the Lord of Gondor could not breach. She awaited him at the city gates, a huge smile on her face as she shook her head teasingly.

Faramir snorted in amusement at her antics as they passed under the gates, side by side, and laughingly made their way towards the stables.

* * *

The waiting was finally over. Eowyn stood at Faramir's side before the vast ruined gates of Minas Tirith, impatience evident in her rapidly moving eyes, despite her stiff posture. A smile, also, graced her countenance as she cast her gaze from the approaching Army of the West to rest upon Faramir's noble visage. Despite their earlier conversation his nerves were clear to her; the calmness of his face in repose was betrayed by his stormy eyed gaze as he watched the approaching host and its eminent leader. She took his hand in her own, pleased at the grateful yet sheepish smile he bestowed upon her as his cheeks flushed guiltily.

As Faramir turned his attention back to the host Eowyn let her gaze fall upon her brother. Eomer rode at Aragorn's right hand side, his normally stern and proud face lit up by a handsome smile. He bore no obvious wounds and Eowyn felt her heart swell with pride – he would make the people of Rohan a strong and loving king. She sighed a little wistfully, trying to blot out the unhappy events that had lead to his imminent crowning. A single high note echoed across the expanse of the Pelennor and the White Lady felt her resolve weaken as memories flooded her mind.

_Forth Eorlingas! The trumpets sounded as the day dawned, clear and bright and true. Tears sprang, unbidden, into Eowyn's eyes as the noise penetrated into her soul, resonant and achingly poignant._

She staggered slightly under the weight of remembrance, her emotions wildly mirroring those that she had felt throughout the Great Battle and at its end. Her uncle's demise was fresh in her mind as she watched her robust, youthful brother near her; sadness enveloped Eowyn as she realized that Theoden had regained his youthful vitality for a few scant days before it was ripped from him cruelly and his might and power had been prematurely snuffed out.

_I had wished for death that day…_she thought dazedly, and as she felt a reassuring squeeze on her palm an immense gladness spread through her, leaving her fighting the urge to grasp Faramir against her tightly in front of the masses gathered to witness the return of the king. The thought of Faramir alone and without her, full of aching loneliness and sorrow, made her heart rebel.

It seemed he did not share her reservations about public embraces, and as if sensing her changing moods, reached up a comforting hand to caress the side of her face, his own awash with compassion.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice full of warmth and happiness.

"And I you," he returned, smiling.

The young Rohirrim cut her eyes across to the riders once more. Eomer's brows had risen at her exchange with Faramir, a light of curiosity and approval shining there. A blush rose to Eowyn's cheeks as pleasure warmed her. Though nervous of her brother's opinion of Faramir she had always known he would wish her every happiness and be filled with gratitude to whomever had bestowed the same within her. A similar expression of approval, mingled with relief, was painted upon Aragorn's rugged face.

Suddenly his words came back to her and she smiled at his wisdom.

…_Have patience; happiness will come to you Eowyn. You are not alone…_

Blue eyes turned up once more to meet grey and she smiled. Indeed she was not.

* * *

A/N: I'm so glad people are enjoying this story, I'm having great fun writing it. I will be busy the next few weeks with a field mapping project for my university course but will try to write and update as often as I can. Thanks to all of you for your patience with this story and for the many helpful reviews I have been rewarded with. More soon...x


	15. Chapter 15

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**Chapter 15: The Return of the King**

The evening was warm, bright, and filled with promise. All of Minas Tirith was gathered to look apon the return of their king. Children pulled at their mother's skirts, pointing in wonderment at the army nearing them and women waited anxiously, eyes searching for a glimpse of their loved ones. The bright penants fluttering in the breeze were many and cheered the hearts of those who had despaired before the end, for they declared that the people of Middle Earth were free.

Shields blazed under a waning sun as weary soldiers shifted in their saddles, as eager as their mounts to be finally home. Eyes were bright as the White City neared and spirits crested upon a wave of joy and relief that flooded the heart of each man that had thought never again to see her sparkling edifaces caressed by the blushing warmth of the setting sun.

Eowyn stood at Faramir's side in a state of nervous agitation. His gaze was drawn to her restless figure and a wry grin swept over his noble visage. As if a guilty child, the Princess of Rohan flushed and mumbled an apology, clasping her hands together before her to still their fiddling. Faramir merely raised an eyebrow in amusement and, uncaring for their public position before the ruinous gates to the White City grasped them within his own and pressed a kiss to them, turning his eyes back to a steady watch of the procession a moment later.

The King of Gondor approached.

Faramir found himself suddenly infected with Eowyn's inability to remain still for more than a moment and smoothed his tunic down over his chest. The handsome older man's broad smile was perceptible to Faramir's keen eyes even from afar, and as his company drew nearer to the gates, the relief and happiness in his eyes also became visible as they landed upon the striking figures of the Lady and the Captain.

_My heart can now be truely glad_, he thought contentedly. The love shared by the two was as clear as the cloudless sky to Aragorn, who read the looks in their gazes as ones oft directed to him by his beloved Elven beauty, Arwen.

A murmuring to his left caused his smile to widen mirthfully; it seemed Faramir's cousins had noticed his proximity to the White Lady. The rugged Dunedain turned about in his well-worn, creaking saddle, taking in the shocked expression also upon Eomer's face and a short burst of laughter erupted from him. Eomer scowled half-heartedly, his bemused eyes tracking almost instantly back to watch his sister with raised brows. She _was smiling._

"Faramir is a good man; your sister's heart is safe with him, I assure you," Aragorn said, sobering in light of his friend's evident discomposure. He placed a reassuring hand upon the Rohirrim's broad shoulder.

The somewhat stern expression that had come over Eomer's face when he noted the entwined hands of the lovers was subdued then, his flinty eyes mellowing in time with the sigh that he loosed. He shook off his over-protectiveness with ease for Aragorn's statement could not be false - Eowyn looked so happy and safe, and the light in Faramir's dark eyes struck Eomer with a kind of awe for the feelings he must possess for his sister. He raised a strong hand in salutation, smiling at the excited, decidedly uncomposed wave that Eowyn returned. He had not seen her thus devoid of grief or remorse or melancholy for longer than he cared to admit and it eased some of his own grief, the clenching around his heart diminishing somewhat in gladness. As Eomer pulled his horse to a standstill Eowyn let loose the Gondorian's hand and approached him, beaming and clearly full of anxious nerves. Eomer smiled fondly and nodded to Faramir as he dismounted before turning his gaze to rest upon his sister. Tears were gathered in her eyes as she hurled herself into his arms and Eomer's own soon moistened the top of her head as he held to her.

Faramir watched their reunion with a myriad of feelings: joy, relief...jealousy. A forlorn sigh escaped him. The pain of his own brother's absence was more acute than ever and had him ducking his head to let loose a shaking breath.

"It does me good to see you, mellon."

Stunned, Faramir raised his head and found himself staring into the fathomless blue eyes of his King.

"And I you," he said softly, bowing.

Ever estute, Aragorn's expression softened as he followed the dark grey eyes pulled irresistably towards the happy siblings before them. His brows pinched in empathetic unnderstanding and his firm hand landed upon the younger man's shoulder, seeking to impart a measure of comfort. Faramir smiled gratefully, the simple touch and the look in those wise eyes, more comforting than any words could have been at that moment.

"I see you are well on the road to recovery," Aragorn said, his eyes drifting across to the much-changed woman laughing in her brother's arms. "Both of you. You are a lucky man, Faramir of Gondor..."

Faramir nodded sombrely, attempting to cast aside the shadows of doubt clinging tenaciously within the recesses of his mind.

"And Eowyn of Rohan is a lucky woman!" It was Eomer who said this, his strong, tanned hand reaching out to grasp Faramir's shoulder, his cheeky grin belying the almost grave seriousness his eyes held as he stared into the grey eyes gazing back at him.

"Indeed she is," Aragorn agreed, smiling benevolently at the dazed expression that had come over the darker haired young man's countenance.

"I owe you thanks, for restoring my sister to happiness and light, for giving her hope and your love. It will not be forgotten." Eomer continued earnestly.

"I could not but love her." Faramir said softly, his eyes now only for the White Lady as she stood glimmering in the last rays of the sunlight, so achingly beautiful that he thought, for just a moment, that his heart would split, for surely she was but a waking vision of his deepest desires. But then she slipped her hand into his palm and tucked her slender curves against his body in a warm and solid embrace. "I could not live without her...I would ask your permission, Eomer King, to take your sister's hand in marriage..."

"And it is gladly given, brother," Eomer replied, warm regard, respect and approval radiating from his smiling eyes.

Eowyn stilled in shock, her eyes riveted to her brother's smiling face, before she turned instead to face her future husband. His handsome face was full of contented, blissful disbelief, and she knew it mirrored her own as he looked down upon her with a gentle smile as those around them laughed good-naturedly at their stunned expressions.

The White Lady beamed merrily at them all, her eyes sparkling and bright; things were changing, things had changed, and all for the better, all beyond her wildest, deepest hopes. The Lord of Mordor had been defeated, and with the lifting of the darkness shrouding that land, oozing out from it, the darkness wrapped around her own heart had loosened,finally lifting at the tender love Faramir had shown her. She felt cleansed, pure, new, and whilst she had lingering scars that had yet to heal fully, ready to embrace the new life promised to her by her brother's approval of her handsome Captain.

As she looked about her at the group of gathering friends that had survived the War of the Ring, her elation and excitement for the future was marred only by the aching sense of loss for those loved ones who had not lived to see the restoration of the lands they called home, to see them purged of all traces of the Dark Lord's reign of destruction, who had not survived to see them triumph above all odds by the strength and determination of two brave little hobbits that stood flanked a short distance away by a grinning Merry. Eowyn smiled bashfully at the knowing glint in her companions eyes.

"I knew it! I knew you were in love!" he proclaimed loudly.

* * *

A/N: I am absolutely cringing at the time it has taken me to get this written and I am sincerely sorry for the delay. I can only say that I got a bad bout of writer's block, which I hope had now passed now that I have managed to get this down! I know it's short but hopefully it will open the floodgates of my imagination again. Any requests for direction here on in are more than welcome! Thanks for the supreme level of patience you have exercised with me lately, I hope future posts make up for this one. Thank you so much x


	16. Chapter 16

_**Hopes and Dreams**_

**A/N: Well here we are, the end of the story, finally! I am sad to be ending it now but it felt right to do so. Some more mature content in this one - if anyone thinks it warrants changing my rating let me know, I wasn't sure. Thanks! x**

**Chapter 16: Epilogue: The Dawn of a New Age**

Eowyn stood alone upon the white walls of Minas Tirith, her expression wistfull. The sun was rising in the East and the pale blue sky was flecked with burnished gold, streaks of warm pink mingling within the low clouds that scudded across the sky, blown by a warm breeze. A year had passed since the fall of the Dark Lord, and the world was changing. Indeed much had already changed; Aragorn was now the rightful King of Gondor, his wife Arwen its ageless Queen; Faramir was Prince of Ithilien and remained Steward of the White City...and she herself was now his wife. A slight disbelieving laugh escaped the Lady of Ithien at that as memories of the previous night flashed before her.

_Eowyn stood before a full length mirror gazing at her reflection. A blush coloured her cheeks as she took in the shape of her body beneath the diaphonous bridal shift her maids had dressed her in, a touch of excitement mingling with her nerves. Faramir, her wonderful husband, awaited her in the next room. She looked down at her hand, smiling at the golden band he had paced upon her slim finger; he had chosen well, it was of two running horses twisted around a perfectly crafted, tiny image of the white tree itself. _

_After a while Eowyn shewed her maids away, and giggling, they fled into the hallway to leave the young maiden to final her preparations. She brushed out the crown of plaits and flowers that had adorned her head for the wedding, letting her hair hang loose the way she knew Faramir loved. A shaking sigh escaped her as she ran tremulous hands over her gown, smoothing away non-existent creases, knowing she had naught left to do save to make her way to her lover. Soft noises travelled from behind the closed door before her. The glugging of wine, the rustle of a bedsheet, the gentle click of a closing door...He was waiting for her now, alone._

_The White Lady turned the handle and stepped out into the bridal chamber, a small smile upon her face. The room smelt of lavender, and rose petals were strewn about the floor and upon the sheets, candles and moonlight casting a soft glow that fought back the shadows. _

_"Meleth nin," Faramir's voice was deep and husky with emotion, his eyes shining with tears of happiness. _

_Eowyn nervously brushed back a tendril of her unruly hair as he rose off the bed to meet her. He stood slowly, his shirt billowing about him, and Eowyn saw that he too wore the same diaphanous material as she. Her eyes travelled over his body as he neared her, her heart beating faster at the knowledge that his eyes also took in each curve of her flesh. His dark eyes bored into her own as he stood before her then, and though it was clear he desired her greatly, the love brimming forth from his gaze was what truely struck her. She smiled broadly at him, her hand touching the side of his face gently._

_"I love you, husband..." she whispered. A laugh escaped her as he grinned excitedly and pulled her towards him in a gentle embrace._

_"Oh, Eowyn...This is like a dream..." he murmured against the top of her head._

_"It has been a dream for many months now, but it is not any longer," she said into his chest, turning her head upwards to gaze into his eyes once more. _

_And at that Faramir stooped and pressed his full lips against her own gently, his hand stroking her hair and straying down to her bare shoulders, his touch leaving a trail of icy fire in its wake. Before long their kiss deepened, longing and passion fighting for release. Faramir led her to the bed and they lay down, his lips never leaving hers until she sighed and he began trailing kisses down her neck, his hands gently untying the laces holding her gown in place, slipping beneath it. His breath was hot against her skin, and Eowyn trembled with desire, sitting up so that her gown slid from her shoulders, revealing milky white skin. She leaned into his touch, her own hands emboldened now and tugging against his clothes. Faramir pulled his shirt over his head and leaned down over her, kissing and teasing each inch of her exposed skin as she ran her hands over the flat planes of his lean, muscled chest and farther still. A deep moan escaped him and Eowyn renewed her efforts, pleased when his breeches slipped over his narrow hips. His strong hands removed her shift and he looked into her eyes._

_"I love you Eowyn," he whispered. _

_"And I you," she smiled, pulling him closer, closer..._

_Finally they were united, their bodies moving in time with one another, in utter harmony, their soft moans mingling and rising. _

"Goodmorning, my beautiful wife," Faramir crept up to her silently, his hands catching her about the waist as he whispered in her ears, rousing her from her recollections. She smiled widely as he leant beside her, his keen eyes looking out upon the new day as light bathed the lands in glory. Eowyn's eyes strayed to the leafy lands of Ithilien and excitement coursed through her veins. Today Faramir would take her to their new home. Today shadows of the past would be left behind, forgotten. Today a new age would begin.

~~_**END**_~~

A/N: Sorry for he delay again, I had a totally different thing up before but I felt that I didn't work so I started writing this instead. I hope it rounds things off suitably well. Thank you all for reading this story, I am so happy people have enjoyed it as it has been a new experience for me, and one that I have enjoyed immensely. I have a few ideas for an AU type story brewing so maybe you'll hear from me in a while...who knows. Thanks again to those of you who have reviewed, it has been really helpful! Aliyssa x


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